


Somewhere Over The Rainbow

by internetpistol



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Dialogue Heavy, Imagine Being So Meant To Be, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magical Realism, Not Really Character Death, Promised Neverland-esque, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29687550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetpistol/pseuds/internetpistol
Summary: Kuroo Tetsurou and Kozume Kenma meet for the first time at the age of eight when Kuroo moves into the house next door, on January 2004.And they meet for the first timebeforethat, sixty years ago, in January of 1944.This is a tale of magic, tragedies, triumphs, and the Power of Love being taken to the extremes.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 143
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO! This is my first attempt at writing something of this genre so imagine the struggle. I'm not that sure if I like it honestly, but I did my best and it's dear to my heart. Please don't let the Not Really Character Death scare you. Like, there actually is death but also it's Not Really (you see the Magic and Reincarnation tag), so it'll be fine. I'd like to think. Also, here's a [playlist](https://t.co/Rp2y2JF37A?amp=1) of calming music I listened to on repeat while writing/editing/re-reading.

**July, 2014**

“Kenma, put that damn PSP down and eat your vegetables!” Kuroo chides, shoving a paper plate filled to the brim with rice, meat, and greens in Kenma’s face.

Annoyingly, all things that Kenma didn’t exactly eat much of.

“You slept late as hell last night and I already let you pass for that. I won’t have you training on an empty stomach!”

Kenma tries to shake his head and turn around so he can go back to his game, but Kuroo simply makes a disappointed tsk noise and yanks it out of his hands before placing the plate on Kenma’s lap. The boy can only sigh.

 _“Kuro,”_ Kenma whines softly, making grabby hands at his PSP, “I was almost done with that level.”

“Well, you can finish the level once you’re done eating.” Yaku says, appearing seemingly out of thin air, “How many meals are you gonna skip this week, huh? You’re lucky I haven’t ratted you out to your keeper ‘til now.”

Kuroo gasps, looking offended almost, pushing Kenma’s head back with one hand as the boy tries to grab for his game, while holding the PSP out of his reach with the other.

“How many meals did he skip?”

“Three, so far. He thought he could make up for a proper meal with mochi and watermelon.”

Kuroo gasps again, now shoving the PSP in his back pocket while pointing at Kenma’s plate firmly. “The _betrayal. Eat.”_

Bokuto interrupts them with booming laughter, before plopping down onto the empty spot beside Kenma, with his own paper plate topped with a mountainous serving of rice and an equally generous serving of barbecue.

“Hey, hey, hey, Kenma! How are you gonna beat us with that attitude? You can’t survive a one week training camp without stuffing yourself! Right, Akaashi?”

“Bokuto-san, please sit down properly. You dropped a piece of salmon.”

Kenma is pouting at this point, mechanically shoving small slices of meat into his mouth. “We wouldn’t be able to beat you anyway, Bokuto.”

“Don’t say that!” Kuroo exclaims, and it reads as some sort of dramatic oath when he says, “I, Kuroo Tetsurou, vow to defeat these damn owls if it’s the last thing I do before I graduate high school.”

Bokuto and Akaashi respond with laughter while Kenma and Yaku roll their eyes fondly in tandem.

“You’re exhausting.” Kenma says monotonously.

“You _love_ me.” Kuroo smiles cheekily, pressing a tender kiss to the top of Kenma’s head making the boy grudgingly let out a small, soft noise at the gesture. “You love me the _most.”_

Yaku makes a vomiting noise in the background.

“Aw, come on Yakkun, don’t be like that!” Bokuto cheers, “They’re cute! Just think about how we spent the entire summer before sophomore year trying to get them to stick their tongues in each other’s mouths!”

Yaku can only laugh, sighing fondly at the memory.

“Damn, I can’t believe we’re seniors now. Wasn’t it only yesterday that I saw Kuroo’s stupid face for the first time in that first year classroom and he looked at me and said, ‘Hey, wanna sit next to each other? I don’t know how to explain but your face looks _super_ familiar!’” Yaku laughs, “I’d never been so freaked out. I’d never seen that man before in my life.”

“Oh!” Bokuto exclaims, making an overly exaggerated shocked face. “He did that to us too, didn’t he, Akaashi?”

Akaashi only nods, biting down on a meat bun. “He did. Pointed at us like we were animals at a zoo and everything.”

“Well, it was true!” Kuroo defends himself, “I _did_ feel that way! It reminded me of the first time I met Kenma!”

Kenma chuckles softly at the reminder. “Oh yeah, _that._ An intimidatingly tall rooster head gasped from behind his mother’s legs and told me he swears we’d already met when he’d _just_ moved in the day before. I was eight and terrified.”

Kuroo can only huff indignantly, crossing his arms like the theatrical bastard cat he is. “Whatever. Don’t you guys think I’m damn romantic? I knew we were all meant to be together from the very first day.”

They all blink at him.

“Okay, stalker.”

“Hey!” Kuroo sputters. “I was but an innocent child!”

“A child, yes. Innocent...” Kenma drifts off, tilting his head to the side, as if unsure.

He harrumphs in response. “You guys wouldn’t get it. I swear, it was like I’d seen you guys in my dreams before or something.”

“That’s weird. I read once that you can only dream of faces you’ve seen before. Apparently, our minds aren’t capable of making them up.” Akaashi informs.

“ _What?_ But what about the ghosts?” Bokuto asks, seriously.

Yaku makes an eerie noise. “Oh damn, Bokuto. Maybe you’ve seen them too. You just don’t remember.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen a fraction, before it quickly shifts into an angry pout. “Don’t scare me like that! You _know_ I’ll have trouble sleeping! And who’ll have to suffer through that! Me! And Akaashi!”

Akaashi nods quietly in agreement beside him.

Yaku only laughs in response and then turns his attention back to Kuroo.

“Saw us in your dreams, huh...” He muses, “That’s kinda cool, actually.”

“I think I do remember him telling me something like that when we were kids.” Kenma says, “That he’d seen me in a dream before… in a lot of dreams.”

**January, 2004**

Kuroo Tetsurou is eight years old, and he dreams. He always dreams.

Tonight, just like many other nights before, he wakes up in a cold sweat, panting, and crying. His sobs sound more like pained yells, so his father rushes into the room in a panic, just like he has many other nights before.

He hurriedly wraps an arm around him, rubbing his back a little too roughly, but making gentle shushing noises all the while.

“Tetsurou, son, _breathe_. It’s just a dream. You just had a bad dream.”

Kuroo shakes his head urgently, looking up at his father, face covered in snot, sweat, and tears. “No, dad. It was real. That was _real.”_

It always scared him to no end. The fact that he truly looked like he believed what he was saying.

“What happened, huh?” He soothes, rubbing his arm, “What happened in the dream?”

Kuroo struggles to talk, choking on his own hysterical sobs as he tries to take a breath in, shuddering as he exhales.

“It’s always the same,” He manages to say, “It’s always the same.”

“What’s the same, huh?” He comforts, “What is? It can’t be that bad, can it? At least you wake up and you’re back with your dad, right?”

Kuroo has to take a few minutes to steady his breathing, focusing on his father’s voice and warm skin to tether himself to reality.

He inhales through his nose, holds it for five seconds, and then exhales through his mouth, holding it for another five seconds.

His father had taught him to do this after his first nightmare.

Once he’s finally calmer, he closes his eyes, wipes his tears and starts to talk.

“It’s always the same place. It’s like... an island. It’s a pretty island. But it’s so sad, dad. The island... is so _sad.”_

“Why is it sad?” He asks, wiping the cold sweat off his forehead.

“Because of the people.” Kuroo says, voice pinched, like he’s trying not to cry again, “There’s me and there’s... a boy with spiky hair. There’s a boy with short brown hair. A boy with black hair. There are also twins. And there’s...”

Kuroo’s chin wobbles. He sniffs. “That _boy._ The boy with hair up to his shoulders.”

Kuroo’s father listens, his hand pausing in their ministrations. “What happened to them? What happened to you and your friends in the dream?”

Kuroo wished he could say that he knew what he was saying, except he didn’t.

He didn’t know.

His mouth moves on its own and he doesn’t know where it’s coming from when he says, “My magic says I have to go and meet them.”

“Your magic says you have to go and meet them…?” His father echoes, confused.

Kuroo looks dazed, like he’s not himself as he repeats, “The magic dreams… said so.”

**January, 1944**

Kuroo Tetsurou is seventeen years old, and he dreams. He always dreams.

This time, he’s in a bedroom. Not his own, but a bright one, a comfortable one, with things he didn’t know existed and mixes of colors he’d never seen before.

There’s a man. He doesn’t know why but somehow; he knows he’s supposed to be his father. That’s strange. He looked nothing like his actual father.

And there’s a boy. A boy with blonde hair with some black on the top. How unnatural. Does hair even _do_ that?

And his eyes...

The boy’s eyes are warm, despite them being cat-like, almost. _Piercing._ But they are warm.

They are _familiar_.

When Kuroo wakes up, there are tears streaming down his face. He touches his cheek curiously.

“Why am I crying...” He asks himself, sitting up groggily.

He looks around at the grey, boring concrete and the empty tray on the ground and is reminded of the fact that he’d earned himself another night in the Isolation Cell yesterday. He groans.

He’d been in this cell enough times for it to feel like a second home. The grey concrete that was boring but familiar, the creaky bed that had stopped giving him back ache when he was ten, the toilet and sink in the corner that he’d started using without disgust or shame after his third visit, years ago.

He looks up at the rickety clock on the wall. 7:52 AM.

He sighs, collapsing back onto the bed, resting his arm on top of his eyes, as he waits for the minutes to pass.

At exactly 8AM, he hears the jangle of keys and the metal door creaking. Kuroo blinks his eyes open, lowering his arm just a little bit as natural light starts pouring in.

One of the guards, Ukai, a man who looked way too old for his age in Kuroo’s humble opinion, pokes his head in and meets his gaze. He can only seen to sigh at the sight of the boy.

“For Christ’s sake, young man. You’d better stop acting up and breaking all the rules that I _know_ you’ve got memorized like the back of your damn hand by now. You think we enjoy having to lock you up in here every other week?”

Kuroo sits up and only responds to that with a lazy grin. “C’mon, old man. It’s not all bad. I quite like it in here. Gives me some peace and quiet. The walls are soundproof, so I can sing like a madman and not get punished for it. Don’t you think that’s fun?”

“Your definition of fun has always scared the hell outta me.” Ukai shakes his head, before motioning out the door. “Up and out. Your isolation period is over. Don’t let us catch you stealing food again.”

“No... promises.” Kuroo winks as he stands up with a groan, stretching his sore limbs. “Anything interesting happening today, Ukai-san?”

Ukai pauses momentarily, before shrugging. “New kid.”

Kuroo’s eyebrows raise. “New kid? We haven’t had one in a minute.”

“So, go take a shower and fix yourself up. Meet the others downstairs in fifteen minutes and not a second later. We’re introducing him to everyone. Play nice.”

Kuroo scrunches up his face like he’s offended.

“I _always_ play nice.” He retorts, before disappearing into his bedroom labelled _HR 001._

“A new kid, huh...” He muses to himself, as he reaches for a towel and some fresh clothes. He shakes his head, “Poor guy.”

Fifteen minutes and not a second later, he finds himself walking into the lobby, only to be greeted excitedly by his block mates.

It’s Yaku who looks up first, from his position on the couch.

One second he’s sitting, and in the literal blink of an eye, he’s standing right next to Kuroo.

“You absolute fucking moron.” He says before anything else, “When will you stop getting yourself into needless trouble, huh? Idiot.”

Kuroo doesn’t respond to that, because he’s heard this spiel enough times, and instead turns his attention to the rest of the guys.

Bokuto is in the middle of casually lifting Akaashi as the boy sits on top of his bicep while reading an old newspaper. And the twins, Atsumu and Osamu, are trying to fetch themselves glasses of water.

Kuroo watches the half-filled glasses float towards them before gently placing themselves in each twins’ outstretched hand.

Kuroo bites back a smile. They looked good. Less hungry than they were yesterday.

He figures another night in the Isolation Cell was worth it.

“Kuroo!” Bokuto exclaims as he starts walking towards them, with Yaku glaring at him silently from behind, “My bud! You’re out! I can’t believe you did that for us yesterday! I’m sorry we couldn’t defend you!”

“Kuroo,” Akaashi greets, looking guilty, “You really don’t need to go out of your way for everyone all the time. The rest of us can do what you do, at least once in a while.”

Kuroo waves his hand. “Oh, please. It’s better to leave these kinds of things to the guy whose already made a home out of that cell. You guys already know I have a box of stuff hidden underneath the bed to pass the time. Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

“Tryin’ to be the cool guy again, ain’t he, Samu?”

“As always, Tsumu.” Osamu nods reverently.

Kuroo turns around and narrows his eyes at them. “You two better shut it if you don’t want me to stop stealing chocolate bars for you.”

The two pretend to zip their mouths shut and toss the keys in total synchronization.

Kuroo finds that he can never get used to that. It’s always, unfailingly, still just a _little_ bit creepy.

“You all better be here! Line up!”

At the sound of Ukai’s commanding voice, the six of them shuffle towards the front door in an orderly fashion, arranging themselves into one straight line.

Kuroo stands in front, behind him Yaku, followed by Bokuto and Akaashi, and then the twins.

The double doors open and they’re met with sunlight, fresh air, and the smell of the sea that they normally only got to experience an hour a day.

Standing just a few feet away, is one of the guards named Takeda, and a frail looking boy in handcuffs that looked too tight around his wrists, cowering behind him.

As they approach, Kuroo makes a face, motioning to the poor boy.

“Christ, Take-san. Can’t you rid him of the handcuffs now? He’s already here, isn’t that punishment enough?”

Yaku slaps the back of Kuroo’s head. “Are you _asking_ to be brought back into that stupid cell?”

Despite Kuroo’s rude tone, Takeda only grunts as he reaches for a key in his back pocket and unlocks the boy’s rusty handcuffs.

He instantly rubs at his wrists, twisting them as if trying to get some of their feeling back.

The six of them wait for one of the guards to speak.

After a few awkward moments of struggling to get the shy boy to stand in front of him, Takeda coughs and announces;

“This is Kozume Kenma. He’s sixteen. He’s gonna be living in the HR Block with you young men from now on, so give him a warm welcome or else. And Kuroo?”

Kuroo blinks, slightly taken aback at the sudden call of his name. “Huh?”

“You’re in charge of showing him around _Mahika._ Can I trust you?”

Despite himself, Kuroo manages to smile. “Always.”

Takeda leans down to speak against the boy— _Kenma's_ ear and he flinches a little too harshly. The body language is painfully familiar.

Kuroo wonders how badly he’d been abused out there before ending up here.

Probably pretty badly. He did end up here, after all.

Takeda then points to all of them in a row and says their names.

“These are going to be your block mates for the rest of your stay here so you’d best get along with them. That’s Osamu, Atsumu, Akaashi, Bokuto, Yaku... and that there, is Kuroo Tetsurou. You’ll be following him around today, so he can show you how everything works around here, alright?”

All the six of them can really do to ease the boy’s fear is to wave and smile at him, albeit a little awkwardly.

After a moment’s hesitation, Kenma nods weakly.

The poor guy looked absolutely fucking terrified. Kuroo couldn’t even blame him. He was in _Mahika Island_. And part of the HR Block at that. He probably didn’t want anything to do with them.

“Kenma,” Ukai says, “Go inside those double doors and head over to the desk on the right when you enter. You have to fill up some papers. Kuroo will follow you in a minute.”

As if he’s just grateful to be away from their presence, he nods hurriedly and shuffles away. Kuroo doesn’t know if his eyes are just playing tricks on him, but he seemed to be trembling from head to toe the entire time.

Their curious eyes follow the boy as he enters and then disappears behind the doors.

Kuroo then turns his attention back to the two guards. “What’d he do? What is he?”

“He screamed at the top of his lungs and a few seconds later, his dad died in the other room.” Takeda explains.

“A _banshee.”_ Yaku says under his breath. “A male one, too. That’s really rare.”

“Why’s he in the HR Block, though?” Bokuto asks, genuinely confused. “It’s not like he killed him, right?”

“Non-magic folk don’t understand us, Bo, you know that.” Kuroo explains with a sigh, “Doesn’t matter if he didn’t kill him. All they know is that he yelled and a few seconds later, someone died. He could just as well have shot him in cold blood in their eyes. Hey, Take-san, did I hear right? Is he really sixteen?”

To their credit, the two guards genuinely look remorseful about it.

“Yes.”

“That’s the oldest newbie we’ve ever gotten, right, Tsumu?” Osamu turns to his brother.

Atsumu can only nod gloomily. “Yeah, Samu.”

“Christ,” Kuroo says under his breath, “That’s just cruel.”

“Go ahead and show him around.” Ukai says, grabbing Kuroo by the shoulders, and pushing him towards the door entrance. “You’d best get along with the kid. His room is gonna be right next to yours.”

_Mahika Island._ It was a beautiful place. If it weren’t what it was, it would probably have made a good honeymoon spot. It was a small island, so far away from everywhere else, that no matter how hard you looked, you could see nothing but the ocean surrounding it. Kuroo doesn’t really remember anymore what the city looked like from how long he’s been here.

At this point, all he knew was sand, sea, and trees.

The sea was clear to the point that it sparkled and Kuroo doesn’t really know what other beaches looked like, but he’s pretty sure Mahika had one of the clearest ones in the world.

 _Cerulean,_ he learned from all his reading, was the color. Not just blue. _Cerulean._

The ocean and the sand were always kept clean. Sometimes, the guards did it. Often times, as punishment, they were made to do it. Kuroo never minded that. He liked keeping their island clean. It’s all they really had going for them.

_Mahika Island._ A home for abandoned children. A place of ‘rehabilitation’ for magical kids who didn’t have proper control of their powers. It’s a place where they were meant to be held, disciplined, and trained so they can eventually return to regular living and become a part of normal society.

At least, that’s what it said on the papers and everything. Most magic folk knew what this place _really_ was. Especially in a world where people saw them not as people, not even as creatures, but as monsters.

_Demons._

Those who were brought here, never really got to leave again. Especially not the ones in the HR Block.

You come here, you die here.

That’s just how it worked.

He wondered if this Kozume Kenma boy knew.

Because if he didn’t, then truly, this really was just... _too cruel._

____

“You know where you are?” Kuroo asks, glancing down at the boy next to him, just as he’s about to show him the ropes. “How much do you know about this place?”

He gives the nervous boy a few seconds to answer.

When he does, his voice is croaky, like he hadn’t properly used it in a while. _“Mahika Island._ A rehabilitation center for kids who... can’t control their magic.”

He’s barely even mumbling but Kuroo still understands him, somehow. He sounded the way most kids sounded on their first day here.

Kuroo leads them out of the lobby and into another set of doubles doors that bring them to a cafeteria.

“There are two buildings on this side of the island. One for the girls, one for the boys. Each building is separated into two blocks. The Regular Block and The High-Risk Block. Are you following me?”

Kenma only answers with a terse nod.

“We don’t really interact with each other. We’ve never seen the girls and as for the Regular Block, we’re only allowed to see them during meal times, which happens three times a day. Breakfast, 9AM. Lunch, 1PM. Dinner, 8PM. Oh, there’s also Free Time everyday, and for the HR Block it happens only for an hour after lunch, where we can stroll around the beach or hang around any of the extra-curricular rooms, and we can do whatever the hell we want. Fair warning that the guys from the Regular Block don’t really talk to us. They’re allowed to. But they’re probably scared, so don’t take it too personally.”

Kenma seems to take it a little personally.

“We have classes here too, but that's only for the kids in the Regular Block. Actual _school,_ if you can believe it. Us High-Risk boys mostly take charge of the chores and the dirty work. Keeping the place clean and everything. We have personal tutors for studying. We aren’t allowed to be in a class altogether for a full day. They’re scared we’ll gang up on the professors. They’re the only non-magic staff who come around here. The other non-magic folk, the higher ups, apparently stay on another part of the island, but we’ve never seen. Don’t go looking for them if you don’t want trouble, you hear?”

Kenma doesn’t say anything, just nods continuously.

Kuroo really does feel bad for the guy, so he decides not to overwhelm him by scaring him off with what the guys liked to call his _over-friendliness_ and _exaggerated charm._ He knows the boy probably just wanted to get this over with and hide in his room.

So, he simply nods, smiling in a way that he hoped was reassuring, before leading Kenma up the stairs.

“We have a music room, a gym room, a TV room, a library, and other rooms that I never really use and am too lazy to show you. You can look around later during free time, if you’d like.”

He manages to fish out a small smile from Kenma at that. He considers it a win.

“Uh, Kuroo... san—”

“Just Kuroo’s fine.” He interrupts with a wave of his hand, “I’d feel uncomfortable if any of my block mates were too formal with me.”

“Oh. Okay. Kuroo, then.” Kenma corrects himself, still not looking him in the eye, “What’s the difference between the Regular Block and the High-Risk Block?”

Christ’s sake. Bless his soul.

Kuroo’s not sure how to break it to him gently, so he goes with the ripping off the band-aid method.

“Well...” Kuroo scratches the back of his neck, “The Regular Block is for kids who’ve never harmed anyone but themselves with their magic. And the High-Risk is for... well, _you know.”_

It seemed that the boy already knew and just wanted it clarified, his shoulders sinking, as if he’d just realized exactly how he’s seen by the world now. “Those who have harmed?”

Kuroo nods. “Badly harmed or killed.”

The color drains from Kenma’s face and Kuroo knows he’s probably had enough.

“You want me to show you to your room? We’re neighbors.”

It’s the strongest nod Kuroo had gotten from him all day.

_HR 002._

“This is you.” He says, swiftly twisting the door knob and pushing the door half open. He motions to the other door on his left with his thumb, “And that’s me. We’re not allowed to lock bedroom doors around here in case of emergencies. Remember that rule, alright?”

Kuroo then turns Kenma around by the shoulders so he faces the intimidating metal door at the end of the hall.

“Remember it if you don’t wanna spend up to a week in the Isolation Cell. You aren’t allowed out at all once you’re in there. You have to piss and shit in the same place you eat and sleep. Your powers won’t work in there, either. Think about that.”

Kenma gulps. “Are there any other rules, then?”

“You can use your powers but only to a minimum and never to harm. Curfew is 10PM. No making any loud noises in your bedroom past then. The walls are fairly thin so the guards will know when you’re being loud. As for food, we’re only allowed what we’re given. We have limited supplies so no extras for anyone. But, well... I sometimes manage to get around that rule, so you don’t have to worry about starving.”

Kenma makes a confused face and Kuroo casually waves him off. “What I’m trying to say is this place isn’t so bad, once you get used to it. A little strict, a little stifling... but it’s home to us. You’ll be fine. The six of us living here are good people.”

Kenma purses his lips, placing his hand on the door knob, as if readying himself to get in, shut the door behind him, and never come out.

Kuroo watches the boy’s hand tighten around it.

“Good people...” He echoes, before turning around to look Kuroo in the eye for the first time since he’s met him.

Kuroo has to hold back a gasp.

Cat-like eyes. Warm. _Familiar._

“If you’re good people,” Kenma starts, staring at him like he’s looking into his soul, “... why are you here, then?”

Kuroo’s been asked that by new kids enough times for him to know that there’s nothing he can say to answer that question. Hell, he wished he knew.

So instead, he shrugs, smiles, and asks him back.

“Why are _you?”_

For some odd reason, Kuroo can tell that it’s at that moment, that Kenma stops being scared of him.

He smiles softly. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s there.

“Touché.” He says, finally turning around fully. “I'll see you later then, Kuroo.”

“Yeah.” He says, in a daze. He _smiled_ at him.

Before Kenma can properly shut the door, Kuroo stops him in his tracks by asking, “Hey… have we met before?”

The boy pauses, turns around slightly, and regards him with a confused tilt of the head. “I don’t think so.”

Kuroo almost slaps himself. Well, that was embarrassing.

“Right. Yeah, sorry about that. It’s just that you look... really familiar.”

Strangely, Kenma doesn’t even seem weirded out. He only nods slowly and then looks away.

“I wonder. I’ll see you later.” He says, before softly shutting the door.

“Yeah… I’ll see you later.”

He finds himself staring blankly at the closed door for a full ten seconds, until he realizes that he needs to stop before it gets creepy.

_Kozume Kenma. Sixteen. Banshee. Small. Black hair up to just above his shoulders. Cat-like eyes. Warm. Familiar._

_Kozume Kenma. Sixteen._

“Kenma.” Kuroo says softly to himself as he walks away, “What a pretty name.”

Kuroo knocks on his door thirty minutes later for breakfast. He skips. Of course, he does.

Kuroo manages to drag Kenma to the cafeteria for dinner but only because he’s joined by Ukai who yells, “Kid! You are _not_ going to starve yourself in here out of fear. You’re going to be living with these boys for as long as you are here and it’s in your best interests to get yourself familiarized with them.”

Also, because Kuroo says, “Look, the food’s good. That doesn’t happen all the time. The noodles don’t taste like Satan’s fire cock today.”

_“Kuroo.”_

Kenma raises a hand up, as if to stop the two from arguing any further. He lazily rises from his bed without lifting his head, like this was the world’s biggest chore.

He takes a deep breath. “Fine. I’m going.”

“Yeah?” Kuroo smiles, excitedly.

Kenma glances up at him through his messy hair. “I mean, if the noodles don’t taste like fire cock.”

Kuroo’s goal had been to get Kenma to eat at their table with them, considering no one else outside the HR Block would eat with any of them willingly, but Kenma took one look at the full table Kuroo was bringing him to, and had instantly backed away.

“I’ll be fine eating on my own.” He’d said, bringing his tray with him as he walked towards an empty table in the corner, without as much as a glance back.

When Kuroo plops down dejectedly onto the seat Yaku had saved for him, the five boys chuckle.

“Told you he wouldn’t do it.” Yaku teases, blowing on a spoonful of soup. “You really think he’d willingly sit at the HR table on his first day here?”

Kuroo shoots him a glare. “It’s because of you guys. He isn’t scared of _me_ anymore.”

“Well, _that’s_ a mistake, if I’ve ever seen one.” Osamu snorts.

“Hey, Kenma!” Atsumu calls out, making the boy flinch from where he’s seated a few tables away. “We’re harmless compared to this rooster head over here, so ya don’t needa be so scared!”

“I am going to _break_ your nose, Atsumu. Don’t even try.”

“Ya don’t scare me, yer not the one with super strength. I can make Bokkun here float and use him to hit you in the face.”

Osamu punches him on the shoulder. “Don’t actually do that. Last time ya tried to lift someone and toss them, it earned you a week in isolation.”

Atsumu huffs. “It was just for a _prank.”_

“Lighten up, Kuroo!” Bokuto says, shoving him lightly, “He’ll warm up to us! No one here warmed up on the very first day, right?”

“That’s a lie. On your first day here, you spent your free time with me in the Music Room dancing to _Boogie Woogie._ Even dragged Akaashi into it, when he was _literally_ still shaking.”

“Well, that’s Koutarou, though.” Akaashi points out, “Does he even count?”

Kuroo groans. “You guys are exhausting and you always make my job as head of the HR Block so much harder.” He takes a deep breath, slams his hands against the table as he stands, bringing his tray along with him. “Wish me luck, everyone. I’m going in.”

“He’s going to scare him.” Atsumu says monotonously, casually going back to his food, eyes trained on Kenma. “Look at him. He looks like he’s going to shit his pants.”

Yaku shrugs. “We all know Kuroo’s gonna get him to warm up, eventually. Just leave him to it.”

“What do you think it is, Keiji?” Bokuto asks with his mouth full, turning to Akaashi. “Do you think the rooster hair makes him look less scary? It should apply to me too then!”

Akaashi blinks.

He turns to glance at the back of Kuroo’s head and then back at Bokuto.

“No. No, I wouldn’t say it makes you two look less scary. It’s not scary at all, actually. Stupid, maybe, a little.”

“Hey!”

Kuroo ignores the look of pure confusion on Kenma’s face as he plops down in front of him, loudly dropping his tray onto the table.

He looks up at the boy and smiles.

Kenma returns that smile with nervous, rapid blinking. “What are you doing?”

“Eating with you.” Kuroo says casually, starting to dig in without waiting for Kenma to react.

“Uh...” Kenma starts, looking around him nervously, because everyone seemed to be staring, Kuroo seemingly bringing attention wherever he went. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Kenma,” Kuroo starts to scold, “You can’t spend your first day here eating alone! They’ll eat you alive!”

“Who?” Kenma asks, concerned. “Who’s gonna eat me alive?”

“Wait, no. No one. No one’s gonna eat you alive.” Kuroo says, “I take that back. I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean, if you wanna survive here and actually have a good time, you’re gonna have to mingle. You understand me?”

“No.”

“Right. _Well._ You don’t have to!” Kuroo says cheerily, “Just get along with me!”

Kenma narrows his eyes at him as he slowly brings a spoon to his mouth, cautious, as if trying not to spook a wild animal.

Kuroo notices. “Are you still scared of me? I thought we were past that.”

“I’m not scared of you.” Kenma answers instantly. “I’m _weary_ of you.”

“Weary?” Kuroo repeats, amused.

“I’m the new guy in the High-Risk Block in _Mahika Island._ Should I _not_ be weary?”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow at that. So, he does have some sass in him. That’s good to know.

“I never said that.” Kuroo answers simply, “It’s smart that you are.”

Kenma says nothing in response.

The two continue to eat quietly, Kuroo glancing up once in a while to examine the boy’s facial features and mannerisms.

He pushes his hair behind his ear often. His cheeks puff up a lot when he eats, like he chews too slow for his own good. He shakes his leg incessantly. His right leg.

Nervous tic, Kuroo guessed.

But surprisingly, the one to break the silence is Kenma.

“How long have you guys known each other?” He asks, raising his head. “You and the other guys in High-Risk.”

“Oh.” Kuroo exclaims softly, unable to hide his shock. “Yaku and I were the first to meet. Then, Bokuto and Akaashi came at the same time a few years later. The last to arrive were the twins, Atsumu and Osamu, not long after them. I think they got here a little over three years ago. We all pretty much grew up together.”

Kenma looks back down at his food. “That’s young.”

Kuroo shrugs. “I guess. Yeah.”

“Were you all assigned to the High-Risk Block right away when you got here?” Kenma asks.

“It doesn’t always work that way, but among the six of us... yeah.”

“So, you were all deemed dangerous before you were even teenagers?”

Kuroo can’t help the way his protective instincts bubble up to the surface. “Are you trying to say something about them?”

“No.” Kenma says.

And Kuroo can tell that his friends were wrong about him because Kenma really _wasn’t_ scared of him. Not at all.

“Like I said... _weary.”_

“Then like I asked,” Kuroo challenges, “Why are _you_ here then?”

Kenma’s own defensive instincts seem to build as he shoots him a dirty look.

Kuroo’s heart skips a beat at that, and he isn’t sure why. He almost glares down at his chest. _Traitorous bastard_ _._

“I didn’t harm anyone.” Kenma bites back. “I’m only a banshee. The non-magic folks just don’t get it. I don’t kill anyone when I scream. I just _know_ when they’re going to die. I didn’t kill _anyone._ My magic doesn’t make me capable of that. I didn’t do anything.”

He stares back down at his food, his hands clenching into tight fists around his utensils.

“No one would believe me.”

Kuroo feels really damn bad for asking, suddenly. He feels a pang of sympathy.

He gives the boy a second to gather himself before he assures, “I believe you. You don’t have to worry about convincing me of all that.”

Kenma doesn’t answer, instead shoving a mouthful of noodles in his mouth.

“Everyone here is magic folk, even the guards, you know? So, we all believe you. There was a banshee once in the HR Block, so... I get it.” Kuroo explains, “So, in turn... give us a chance, alright? You’re here even when you didn’t harm anyone. Who’s to say there isn’t anyone else like you among us?”

Kenma’s quiet for a little after that, pushing and mixing his noodles around the bowl. Kuroo almost reprimands him for playing with his food, until the boy asks;

“The banshee.” He starts, hesitantly. “You said... there was another banshee. What happened to him?”

Kuroo stops in the middle of lifting his spoon, mouth half open, and he looks at Kenma like he’d just realized he made a grand mistake.

He doesn’t answer for a few seconds too long and Kenma has a sinking feeling in his stomach.

The sinking feeling seems to be warranted because instantly, in the blink of an eye, with an awkward cough, Kuroo changes the subject.

 _“Anyway,”_ He says pointedly, in a way that left no room for argument, “This is a place for kids. So, most of us were brought here really young. In fact, you’re the oldest newbie we’ve had so far. Sixteen. What’re you so late for? You managed to hide your magic for that long?”

Kenma is still thinking about that banshee. But something in his gut tells him he doesn’t want to know. At least, not yet.

So instead of pressing on the subject, he answers the question.

“I didn’t know I had powers before—” He drifts off and Kuroo recognizes the distant look on his face, “... the _incident_. Dad was the first person in my life who’d ever passed.”

“Ah.” Kuroo nods, “So, why’d people think you meant to kill your own dad?”

“He used to beat me.” Kenma says casually, as if he’s just informing Kuroo that it’s a Monday or that the weather was nice, “I didn’t cry at all when he died. So, mom got really scared of me and tossed me to the Department of Magical Youth.”

“Shit.” Kuroo shifts in his seat. “Sorry for asking.”

Kenma shrugs. “It’s fine. It’s _Mahika Island,_ right? I’m sure you’ve heard worse.”

“There’s no _worse,_ just... different kinds of the highest possible degree of terrible.” Kuroo corrects. “Are you gonna eat your greens? You should.”

Kenma makes a face, but moves to eat them anyway.

He notices that the other boys of the HR Block are openly staring at them. When Kenma turns his gaze towards them, all five of them look away in unison, naturally going back to eating. He almost laughs.

“Hey, Kuroo.”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you being so friendly?” Kenma asks, straightforwardly. “Do you get extra privileges for taking the lead around here or something?”

For some reason, Kenma doesn’t feel shocked when the boy only answers him with an airy chuckle and a genuine smile.

“Damn, I _wish.”_ He jokes, “Well… I don’t know. I never thought too hard about why. I guess it’s just how I am. Besides, everyone else doesn’t have any qualms about it. Isn’t it lucky to have someone like me to brighten up the atmosphere around here? This place would be a downright drag without me.”

Kenma finds himself fighting back a smile at those words. He intakes another mouthful of noodles to hide it but it doesn’t get lost on Kuroo.

He smiles too.

Kenma wonders how he’s even bringing himself to smile in the situation he’s in. The situation they’re all in.

“And I don’t know, Kozume Kenma.” Kuroo says playfully, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand, grinning at him almost... _dreamily._ “I feel a connection between us, don’t you? Maybe it’s just because both our names start with a K.”

Kenma snorts. “That doesn’t make any damn sense.”

“Sure, it does.” Kuroo argues, “Besides, don’t you feel it?”

Kenma furrows his brows. “Feel what, exactly?”

“The feeling that we’ve known each other forever.” Kuroo says, without a sliver of doubt, “Like I’ve always known you... even if we’ve just met.”

Kenma wants to say that he hasn’t the slightest idea what the boy is talking about.

But the thing is, something in him, he doesn’t know what, _understands_. A part of him _does_ feel it.

He doesn’t say that out loud.

He only looks away and continues to eat, a silent invitation for Kuroo to keep eating with him, only if he wanted.

Something about Kuroo Tetsurou’s mere presence, for some reason, brought him a kind of comfort that kept him warm down to the deepest depths of him, and the boy didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it.

Kuroo keeps eating with him, is even nice enough to wait for him to finish, later that night, walking him back to his room that’s right next to his own, leaving him with an; _I’ll see you tomorrow, Kenma._

(They eat together every day after.)

Every night since then, Kenma falls asleep to the sound of a low, soothing voice humming the familiar tune of a song that he’s sure he knows, but doesn’t recognize.

He knows whose voice it is, though. He wonders why he can recognize it in an instant, already.

He isn’t sure whether the voice is only coming from his head or from next door.

He _did_ say the walls were thin.

He never finds out, humming along on pure instinct every night, until he slowly drifts off into nights of peaceful slumber. His first in years.

__

It takes almost a whole week of Kuroo spending the majority of his time with Kenma to get him to warm up enough to be introduced to the rest of the crew.

It’s on the 6th day that Kenma finally musters up the courage to look up at Kuroo as they eat their lunch and say, “During free time later... I’ll meet them.”

He drops his chopsticks.

It’s only been six days but Kenma often wants to tell him how dramatic he is.

“The rest of the HR Block?” Kuroo clarifies. “My buddies? My best friends in the whole wide _world?_ You’ll meet them?”

Kenma cringes but nods, nonetheless.

The rooster head cheers so loud that half the cafeteria turns to stare at them in sheer terror.

Kenma truly almost takes it back.

His eyes land on the table just a little away from them, at the five boys staring at Kuroo like he’s finally lost it, and thinks to himself that if Kuroo liked them, they probably couldn’t be all that bad.

 _But then again,_ Kenma thinks, if Kuroo liked them... that probably didn’t mean much because Kuroo seemed like the type of person who liked everyone.

Kenma sighs, going back to his peas.

All he can really do is hope for the best. He’s already managed to handle Kuroo who’s already so... _Kuroo._

Surely, no one could overwhelm him even more and it was all smooth sailing from here.

Kenma wonders how it’s possible to be so wrong about something.

“Come on, Bokkun! You can do it!” Kuroo cheers, pumping his fists in the air. “One hundred seventy-seven! One hundred seventy-eight!”

He continues counting.

Kenma stares out into the distance, at the blue sea, so wide that it always made Kenma feel small and insignificant. He can barely see anything past all that blue.

The sky is clear today and if he looked hard enough, he can pretend that that one cloud is shaped like a cat.

If its head were deformed and it didn’t have ears.

What a beautiful day it was for it to be the weirdest moment of his life.

“C’mon, Bokkun! Yer no weakling!” Atsumu yells, as Osamu bangs on a drum that they’d stolen from the Music Room.

(The drum sticks aren’t being held though. They were simply hitting the drum forcefully while floating in mid-air.)

Bokuto is in the middle of doing squats, shirtless by the sea, Akaashi sitting on one shoulder and Yaku sitting on the other.

It looked like the perfect picture of an underwear ad.

Kuroo had challenged him to do a hundred.

Bokuto had smirked and went, ‘I’ll do you one better and give you _two_ hundreds.”

Kenma is a little scared but he isn’t going to lie. This... was kind of impressive.

“Hey, new guy! Kenma, right? I didn’t notice you there!” Yaku greets from the top of Bokuto’s shoulder, sitting comfortably and using his spiky head as an armrest. “Kuroo finally harassed you enough to cave?”

“I did _no_ such thing. He came here on his own volition, thank you very much.” Kuroo argues, before instantly going back to counting. “One hundred eighty-five!”

“He... well, he’s not so bad, I guess.” Kenma shuffles in his position, kicking the sand under his feet, wincing when Bokuto roars loudly as he reaches the last leg of his challenge. “So, I figured I didn’t mind meeting the rest of you.”

As Bokuto reaches Squat No. One Hundred Ninety-Two, Yaku reaches out a hand to shake Kenma’s and he instantly rushes forward, accepting it.

“I’m Yaku Morisuke. Seventeen. I can teleport.”

They let go of each other as Bokuto stands back up.

Kenma nods. “Kozume Kenma. Sixteen. I’m a banshee.”

“So we’ve heard.” Yaku nods, like it’s nothing. Kenma still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of magic not being something to be feared around here. “This guy on my right over here, is Akaashi Keiji. You two are the same age.”

Bokuto goes down on Squat No. One Hundred Ninety-Four and Akaashi shakes Kenma’s hand then too. “Nice to meet you, Kozume-san.”

Kenma shakes his head. “Just Kenma’s fine.”

Akaashi smiles gently at that. “Alright, Just Kenma. Then Just Keiji for me, too. I’m a mind controller.”

Kenma’s eyes widen, both amazed and terrified, not sure which emotion is overpowering which. _“Woah.”_

“Don’t worry. Before you ask, I won’t use it on you. I don’t have good control over it, so I don’t use it on anyone unless I _really_ need to.” Akaashi pats the top of Bokuto’s head. “And this guy over here...”

“TWO HUNDRED!” Bokuto, Kuroo, and the twins all yell at the same time.

There’s a mini celebration as Bokuto easily lifts both Akaashi and Yaku in the air before putting them down, cheering as he gives everyone a (painful) high five.

“Hell yeah, Bokkun!” Atsumu praises, “Yer a damn dream boat!”

“What’d I say? Easy peasy!” Bokuto boasts.

Kuroo can only bring himself to smile, reaching out and pulling the boy closer, throwing an arm around him.

“This, Kenma, is my right-hand man in making the mood around here, Bokuto Koutarou. He’s a seventeen year old guy with, as he just _beautifully_ demonstrated, super sexy super strength.”

“The _sexiest.”_ Bokuto nods, agreeing strongly, “Nice to meet you, Kyanma!”

“It’s Kenma.”

Kuroo gasps. “Kozume Kyanma... that’s perfect.”

“No, it’s not.” He deadpans.

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“Is too. Miyas! Come meet Kyanma!”

“Oh! Kyanma!” Atsumu yells excitedly, hurrying over, Osamu following behind him, still holding onto that god forsaken drum.

_God help him._

“I’m Atsumu.” One of the twins say, holding a hand out, “We’re the same age, I think? My brother and I are telepathic and telekinetic.”

“Osamu.” The other twin adds, shaking Kenma’s hand too. “Nice to meet ya, Kyanma.”

“It’s _Kenma,_ actually.” He corrects. “Sorry, can I ask... how people tell you two apart? Just so I don’t make a mistake later on?”

“Oh, that’s easy. Just remember that the idiot is Tsumu.” Osamu points out.

“The hell did ya say, ya piece of shit?” Atsumu spits out, yanking the drumsticks away from Osamu’s telekinetic grip, then getting into some form of ridiculous attack position. “Jus’ gotta take care of my brother for a minute, Kyanma. Nice meeting ya.”

Like they’re programmed to, Osamu starts running just as Atsumu turns around in preparation to hit him.

Yaku leans towards him slightly and whispers, “Just remember that Atsumu has brown eyes and Osamu has grey.”

Kenma nods at the information, dazed.

“But does he know he can just use his telekinesis to hit him…” He mumbles to himself, staring after the two as they run into the distance.

Kuroo makes a disapproving noise. “Remember the rules. We can’t use our powers to harm. Even as a joke.”

Kenma looks up at him. “So, you can harm each other as long as you don’t use your powers?”

Kuroo blinks. “Actually… wow. Yeah, I guess you can.”

Kenma shakes his head. “This place is so strange.”

Kuroo ignores the comment, gleefully throwing an arm around him so suddenly that Kenma has to pretend that he doesn’t stop breathing.

“So? What do you think of them, dearest Kyanma?”

Kyanma thinks this has been the most exhausting twenty minutes of his life.

He doesn’t say that. Instead, he says, “I like them.”

He only realizes he means it once he says it. Kuroo can tell he means it too, if his wide grin is anything to go by.

“I knew you would.”

The sky is light blue, the clouds big and white, forming shapes that Kenma would be able to figure out if he tried hard enough, the sea cerulean blue, stretching far and wide, making him feel small and insignificant.

But in a good way.

There is a firm, warm arm around his shoulder, squeezing him close. Kenma’s a little claustrophobic, but this kind of closeness with this kind of person, he finds he doesn’t mind.

It’s only once he’s back in his own room past curfew, listening to the stifling quiet, that he starts to wonder about a lot of things, but two things in particular.

The first, how the hell _any_ of those boys he’d just met had earned their place in the High-Risk Block of _Mahika Island_.

And the second, how he's learned and memorized every single one of their powers…

_Yaku Morisuke, seventeen, teleporter. Akaashi Keiji, sixteen, mind control. Bokuto Koutarou, seventeen, super strength. Miya Atsumu and Osamu, twins, sixteen, telepathic and telekinetic._

He knows all... save for one.

He stares at the wall that separated his room from the one next door.

_Kuroo Tetsurou. Seventeen. Unknown._

When Kenma curls into himself, pulling his blanket up higher, he feels a phantom warmth around his shoulders and thinks back to earlier that day.

His last thought as he drifts off, is that Kuroo's power had to have something to do with being warm.

_Maybe fire..._

__

Kenma wonders if people would call him crazy if he told them that he’s felt more at home the past two weeks in _Mahika Island_ than he ever has his whole life living with his family.

He figured it had a lot to do with the boy currently sitting next to him.

Or maybe it’s just the sea.

He wiggles his toes a little, as the waves crash against the shore, caressing his and Kuroo’s feet before pulling back.

Just a few feet away, he sees Yaku and Akaashi conversing over glasses of iced tea and Bokuto playing tag with the two Miyas, cursing why his power couldn’t have been super speed.

Kenma turns back to the sea, sighing contentedly, resting his chin on top of his knees. “Wasn’t this place supposed to be some sort of kiddie prison? Why do I feel like I’m on vacation, then?”

Kuroo laughs a little. “Like I said… Not so bad, is it? Curfews are lame, the food is mostly crap, too many rules, a little stifling, but...” He sighs, stretching his legs out, burying his feet in the sand, “I think moments like these every once in a while make up for all that, you know?”

Kenma hums. “It’s not so bad living on an island, either.”

Kuroo gently knocks him on the side. “Look at you. Thought I’d have to fight tooth and nail for you to get out of that hardened shell.”

“Hey, Kuroo?” Kenma says, ignoring that statement, “Don’t they ever get worried that one of these days, someone’s gonna come up with some escape plan and go out into the sea? Someone here has to have _some_ sort of power that’d get them out of here.”

It’s silent for a moment.

Kenma turns to look at him and catches an expression on Kuroo’s face that’s hard to read. Something about it looked so... _calm,_ as he says;

“No one here would try to escape, Kenma. The only reason any of us are even here in the first place, is because we don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Kenma lowers his head at that, the realization hitting hard. “Oh. I guess you’re right, huh.”

Kuroo then lets out a loud groan, stretching his arms above his head, before collapsing onto the sand, closing his eyes to protect them from the blinding light of the sun.

“Kuroo?” Kenma says again, slowly lowering himself next to the boy, taking the opportunity to admire his facial features while he isn’t looking. “How long have you been here?”

He doesn’t open his eyes as he answers. “I was brought here when I was eight. Ten years ago.”

 _Ten years ago. Eight years old. “_ Were you assigned to the High-Risk Block right away?”

A pause. “Yeah.”

Kenma bites his bottom lip, nervously. “Did you hurt someone?”

Kuroo doesn’t answer. He keeps his eyes closed, still.

Kenma asks again, but this time it’s in the form of a whisper. “Did you _kill_ someone?”

When Kuroo smiles, it’s wistful.

He holds his breath for five seconds, before exhaling for another five, as if holding something in, as if trying to keep something at bay. Kenma wants to know what it is.

“I guess I did.” is all he says.

Kenma knows that that should probably scare him. He should probably be really fucking terrified right now. If he’d found this out on his first day, he probably would’ve been.

But right now, he just doesn’t believe him.

“Kuroo... what _are_ you?”

The blue sky and white clouds above them, the cerulean sea before them, the sound of the waves crashing against the sand, and the laughter of their friends that sounded so strangely far away, only in that one moment.

Kenma doesn’t think he’ll ever forget any of it, along with the look on the boy’s face as he says;

“I don’t know.” Kuroo says quietly, calm as a lake. “I don’t know what I am.”

 _I don’t believe you,_ Kenma thinks. _Why? Tell me. Why are you here?_

_Why do I feel like you don’t belong here at all?_

Instead of saying any of those things, he rests his head on the sand, lying on his side, staring at the boy’s profile.

 _He’s gorgeous,_ he can’t help but think. _It’s almost ridiculous just how much._

When he reaches out to caress the boy’s jaw with the back of his fingers, softly, so soft that he isn’t even sure if he can feel it, Kuroo doesn’t move.

In the night, Kuroo dreams. He always dreams.

He dreams of another world, maybe it’s of another time, maybe another universe, another life. He’s not sure where he is this time.

Was it a court?

He’s wearing a red uniform, there’s a white ball flying towards him. It’s like he moves on pure instinct when he slams it down onto the floor on the other side of the net. There’s cheering.

People are _cheering_ for him. He’s never had people cheer for him before.

And he turns to his left, like it’s a reflex, and there he is. It’s him again. That same boy.

Blonde hair, darkened at the top. How unnatural. Did hair really do that?

And those cat-like eyes. Piercing. Intimidating. But so warm.

_Familiar._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A relatively chill(?) and short chapter for today but it does reveal a lot more things about their world and some of the characters! Also, forgot to mention this, but there's a gratuitous amount of them jamming to songs from the late 1930s. Because I'd be doing that. Actually, I still do that.

**February, 1944**

_You’ve gotta give a little, take a little, and let your poor heart break a little..._

Kenma bobs his head to the beat as he wipes the windows down clean.

Kuroo suddenly looks up from sweeping to meet eyes with Bokuto, _“That’s the story of!”_

Bokuto points back at him with his feather duster, _“That’s the glory of—”_

_“Loooooooove!”_ They sing in unison, Kenma quietly joining in, but only under his breath.

The record continues to spin as the seven of them try to finish cleaning the hallway as fast as possible, the last of their workload for the day.

From several feet away, they can hear a professor giving some boring history lecture. Not for the first time since he was brought here, Kenma feels grateful that he’d been put in the High-Risk Block instead of the Regular Block.

There’s something you don’t hear often.

_You’ve got to laugh a little, cry a little, until the clouds roll by a little..._

Akaashi turns to Kenma expectantly, _“That’s the story of?”_

He smiles. _“That’s the glory of—”_

_“Loooooove!”_ Yaku sings at the top of his lungs.

“Hey, you’ve got it, Kyanma!” Atsumu praises, using his telekinesis to place the mop he’d using back into the bucket. “Hey, Kuroo, look at him go. He’s singin’ now ‘n everything!”

Kenma rolls his eyes, albeit fondly. “Are we even allowed to use the record player? It isn’t even free time right now.”

“Well,” Kuroo tilts his head, _“Technically,_ we aren’t but—”

Kenma swiftly spins around to glare at the boy who’s grown to be the closest friend he’s ever had.

_“Kuroo.”_ He scolds, voice turning hard.

It’s been a little over a month since Kenma had started living in _Mahika Island._ He isn’t sure how he feels about that.

It feels like it hasn’t been that long, but at the same time, it feels like it’s been way longer than just that.

In the span of that month, the charm of living on a beach had worn off and day by day, the reality of him living in _Mahika Island_ had started sinking in.

With every meal time that served the coldest and stalest food Kenma had ever tasted in his life, with every single day filled with chores to do, rooms to clean, and dishes to wash, with the boring one-on-one classes that barely really taught him anything, with a teacher who he could tell was terrified of him.

And with the three times only within that month that he’d seen Kuroo brought out from different places in handcuffs, doing his semi-regular walk of shame towards the Isolation Cell.

“Don’t worry too much about me, Kyanma K!” Kuroo waves him off, “I’ve been at this long before you even got here. That cell is basically Kuroo Tetsurou territory now.”

“Well, _I_ don’t like it.” Kenma argues.

“Neither do I.” Yaku adds disdainfully.

Kuroo raises a brow, skeptically. “Well, you guys sure do like it when I come back with snacks. Last week, when I snatched chocolate bars for everyone, you two were the first to finish eating.”

Yaku looks away, pretending he hadn’t said anything at all.

“That is neither here nor there.” Kenma huffs.

Kuroo only snickers, not honoring that with a response, as he continues sweeping.

“Anyway, it’s Ukai’s shift and he wouldn’t punish us for playing music, so long as we’re doing our jobs. He’s a lot looser with the tiny rules than the other guards.”

“Hey, now that I think about it!” Bokuto starts, voice way too loud, “It’s been over a month and Kenma hasn’t earned himself a visit to the Isolation Cell yet! Isn’t that a record or something?”

“Christ, you’re right.” Osamu says, staring at Kenma with... _awe,_ almost. “Damn, you’ve never been caught slippin’ with any of the rules, huh. Yer takin’ bein’ a goody two shoes to the next level.”

Kenma makes a face. “It’s not _that_ hard. Do any of you really think I’m going to go out of my way to do something that’ll give me even lesser freedom than I already have? If anything, you guys are the idiots.”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve only been in there _once_ and it’s because someone tried to hit Koutarou with one of the record players, and I had to use my magic to make the guy knock himself out with it instead.” Akaashi all but boasts.

Kenma gapes.

Bokuto nods proudly. “The sexiest thing I have ever seen him do, if you ask me.”

“Are you sure that’s the se—”

_“As long as there’s the two of us, we’ve got the world and all it’s chaaaarms!”_ Atsumu suddenly interrupts loudly, pointing at Osamu.

Osamu points back at him. _“And when the world is through with us!”_

_“We’ve got each other's aaaaaarms!”_ The two sing together.

Kenma observes the way Kuroo looks at the twins, his eyes filled with a fondness that could only be likened to an older brother or a father.

Slowly, Kenma’s gaze travels down to the light bruises around the boy’s wrists and ankles.

He frowns and makes his way to him.

Kuroo hums at him as he approaches, “And what may I do for Kenma today?”

He motions to the bruises. “What’re those? Did they keep you in handcuffs in the cell or something?”

“Oh, these little things?” Kuroo says, examining his wrists a little, before shrugging. “They do it sometimes. If you lose control of your powers, they give you special ones to help you keep your magic down. If you get caught doing something like stealing, they usually make you sleep handcuffed to the bed for a few nights once they let you back in your own room. Just to scare you out of trying anything again.”

“What?” Kenma sputters.

“You’d think they’d stop doing it with me, though.” Kuroo chuckles, “They know I’m gonna do it again anyway.”

Kenma’s chest squeezes both in anger and sympathy. “Can’t you stop doing stuff like that? You barely even eat what you steal.”

“I don’t care what they do to me.” Kuroo says, and it sounds like he’s saying something he’d say any other day, something so natural to him, that he truly doesn’t think anything of it.

He speaks a lot quieter when he says, “I just want my friends to be able to eat good food. The twins had never even tasted chocolate before I stole some for them that first time three years ago. Does that even make any _sense?”_

Kenma feels his heart break.

For Kuroo. For the twins. For all of them.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed if you keep going like this, you know? What if one day they have enough of you and starve you to death in that cold cell?”

Kuroo seems to chuckle under his breath as he pushes more dirt into the dustpan. “They’ll do that anyway, eventually.”

Kenma stares. “What does _that_ mean?”

He asks, but he’s not really sure if he actually wants to know.

Kuroo doesn’t answer the question, only reaches up to pat Kenma’s head fondly, and Kenma doesn’t know whether he’s grateful for it or not.

All he says is, “There are some things about how this place works that you don’t understand yet, alright? And believe me when I say, you’re better off that way. At least, for now.”

_You’ve got to win a little, lose a little, and always have the blues a little..._

_“That’s the story of?”_ Kuroo sings to Kenma, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Kenma sighs gloomily, playing along. _“That’s the glory of...”_

_“That’s the story of!”_ Bokuto continues,

_“That’s the glory of...”_ Akaashi sings.

Atsumu uses his mop as a mic. _“That’s the story of!”_

Osamu steals it. _“That’s the glory of...”_

_“Loooooooove!”_ They all sing together, Yaku taking the lead using some sort of opera voice that hurt Kenma’s ears a little.

Once the song is done, in an instant, they go back to regular cleaning like nothing had happened.

After only a few minutes of that;

“Wanna play it back?” Kuroo asks.

“Is that even a question?”

And not for the first time in the past month, Kenma wonders again. He keeps wondering, the way he’s wondered every day, every night, every minute almost.

He wonders what a group of friends who spent most of their time doing chores while singing along to Benny Goodman could have done to earn their place in the High-Risk Block of _Mahika Island._

He wonders, more than anything else, what a boy who’d willingly spend nights in an Isolation Cell, handcuffed to his bed, just to give his friends a _taste_ of normalcy, could have done to earn his place here.

There are a lot of things about how the world worked that Kenma couldn’t bring himself to understand. But _this,_ he thinks, as he listens to the _Glory of Love_ start up again—

_“You’ve got to give a little, take a little, and let your poor heart break a little!”_ They belt together.

— this, he understood the least.

__

It only truly hits Kenma one night, where exactly he is. Where exactly they are.

The first night. The first of many.

That night, he wakes up to the sound of yelling.

He opens his eyes to the feeling of goosebumps all over his arms and with the view of the ceiling too scarily close to his face.

For a moment, he wonders if maybe he’s having a bad dream.

He realizes he doesn’t feel anything beneath him. No pillow, no sheets, no mattress.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that he’s floating. His bed is floating, too. So is everything else in his room.

He continues to hear panicked yelling, seemingly coming from everywhere around him.

Somehow, he knows right away what’s happening. He knows whose powers could be capable of this.

It’s one of the twins.

They were the only ones allowed to share a room and they were three entire doors away from him, so he wonders what exactly is happening that their magic had _somehow_ managed to stretch this far out.

He struggles, trying to fight off the magic’s grasp on him. He kicks his feet, punches the air, trying to free himself.

Thankfully, after only a few long seconds of struggle, he falls back onto his bed. Not gracefully, in the least. He knows if he hadn’t landed on his bed, he probably would’ve broken some bones.

He was lucky but his shattered lamp and mirror didn’t share the same fate.

“The others...” Kenma mumbles to himself, as he hurriedly steps into his slippers and barges out of his bedroom door.

The noises increase tenfold.

Everyone else had gone out of their bedrooms, none of their expressions matching the panicked one on Kenma’s face.

If anything, all he really saw from them was pure concern.

He looks to his left and sees two guards standing by the open door of the twins’ bedroom. Yaku, Bokuto, and Akaashi are already standing behind them, watching worriedly. Yaku had a bruise forming on his forehead, probably a casualty from the whole floating thing.

“What’s happening?” Kenma whispers to Kuroo who was suddenly standing right next to him.

“Another nightmare.” He answers, like he’s seen this a million times before, like it was a normal occurrence, as he makes his way towards the others. Kenma silently follows behind him.

As they get closer, they hear Atsumu’s voice, pleading desperately.

Desperation wasn’t an expression that Kenma was used to seeing on Atsumu.

“Samu, hey, come on, listen to me.” Kenma gets closer and closer, until he can manage to peek through the guard’s arms.

Osamu is standing in the middle of the room, eyes glowing bright yellow, arms stretched out to his sides like a scarecrow. “Samu? Can ya hear me?”

It’s _terrifying._ It’s the most terrifying fucking thing Kenma’s ever seen.

But nobody looks fazed. Atsumu, especially, doesn’t look fazed in the slightest, standing close to him, pressing his forehead against his brother’s, hands cupping his face.

“It’s a nightmare. Yer havin’ a really bad nightmare. And that’s okay. But ya need to wake up, alright?” Atsumu continues, “I just need ya to come back to me. Ya don’t wanna hurt anyone, do ya? Follow my voice, Samu. C’mon.”

Kenma thinks he sees tears dripping down Osamu’s face and he feels something in his chest crack.

“Samu,” Atsumu cries, “Come _on_ , moron. Come _home.”_

It’s with those earnest words that Osamu’s eyes slowly start to dim, everything in the room that was still floating, falling to the ground as if they’d been cut from strings, and Osamu falls forward, collapsing into Atsumu’s arms.

When they both fall to their knees, Kenma can hear the unanimous sigh of relief that sweeps over the HR Block hallway.

That relief is short-lived, though.

“Crap.” He hears Kuroo swear from behind him, as one of the guards strides in and tries to grab Osamu by the arm.

“Wait a second, no, _please,”_ Atsumu begs, trying to keep the now only half-conscious Osamu away from their grasp, “He just had a nightmare. He’s gonna feel worse if you put him in there alone. _Please._ It’ll be better if he stayed with me.”

“You know the rules, kid.” The guard says, ignoring his protests. “If someone loses control of their magic, you spend however long it takes to get your shit back together in the Isolation Cell. It’s protocol.”

Kenma’s only ever known Atsumu as the confident, intimidating, potty-mouthed twin. To see him look so helpless made the hairs on the back of Kenma’s neck stand up more than Osamu’s showcase of power had just a minute ago.

As the guard hoists Osamu up, the bleary-eyed boy manages to reach a hand out, trying to make a desperate grab for his brother with his last ounce of strength.

“Tsumu...” He calls out weakly.

“I’ll come with him, then!” Atsumu pleads again, holding on tightly to his twin’s hand. Osamu somehow musters up the strength to squeeze back.

“Please. I’m _begging_ you. Just let me stay with him.”

The two guards share a look, as if trying to debate on something.

“Let them stay together.” Kuroo interrupts. He sounds calm and firm, but Kenma can see how badly his hands are shaking, fists clenched against his sides from worry. “It’d help Osamu get his bearings back faster.”

After a few more tense seconds, the guard carrying Osamu sighs and looks at the other twin. “Alright. Come along, then.”

As they begin their walk of shame towards the Isolation Cell, Atsumu turns around and mouths a _thank you_ to Kuroo and the boy only shakes his head, sending him a reassuring smile.

He mouths back, _he’s gonna be fine,_ in a way that you couldn’t help but trust.

“Everyone, stop your ogling! Get back to your rooms! Now!” The guard commands, causing the remaining five to slowly scatter, their gazes lingering on the figures heading towards the door at the end of the hall.

“Does that happen often?” Kenma asks, softly.

“Just sometimes.” Kuroo answers. “It’s not as bad as it used to be, though.”

Kenma gulps. “Do they _have_ to put him in the cell? No one got seriously hurt. He didn’t mean to do it.”

Kuroo only sighs, resting a hand on Kenma’s shoulder and squeezing, before directing him back to his room.

“Like he said... protocol.” He says, as he tiredly makes his way back to his own room, “Go back to sleep, alright? Everything’s gonna be fine.”

_Everything’s gonna be fine,_ he said. _Everything’s gonna be fine,_ when Osamu had just made the entire hall float from a fucking nightmare. And his eyes were _glowing._

_How was this fine,_ was all Kenma could think. _How was any of this fine?_

____

The twins get out of the Isolation Cell after three days. Their eyes are tired, cheeks sunken, and they look like they’d managed to lose ten pounds each, but they greet them with smiles anyway, like they always do.

“Why the long fuckin’ faces?” Osamu scoffs and they try to ignore the obvious scarring around both his wrists, “C’mon. We gotta celebrate our release. Today’s free time, we’re bringin’ the record player to the beach.”

“Genius.” Kuroo says, “Everyone bring towels. We’re swimming today. And you know what, I’m getting Ukai-san to sneak us some snacks for a picnic too.”

“Wait, you can do that?” Kenma asks, doubtful.

Kuroo looks down at him and winks. “As long as you have me around, we can get away with a _lot_ of things, dearest Kyanma.”

“I don’t trust this.” He says. “You’re gonna get yourself into trouble again.”

“Not if I don’t get caught.” Kuroo retorts, sashaying away as he turns around to do whatever the fuck it is he’s planning to do.

Kenma is about to stop him from doing something idiotic, before Akaashi lays a hand on his shoulder.

“There’s no point. He’ll do whatever he wants, believe me. We’ve been trying to stop him for years.”

He sighs, hopelessly. “Is he really gonna be okay?”

Akaashi shrugs, but he looks mostly unconcerned. “If it’s Ukai-san... it’ll probably be alright. Those two go way back.”

Kenma raises his eyebrows. “Go way back? What do you mean?”

“Or so I’ve heard.” Akaashi adds, “I don’t know, either. By the time Koutarou and I got here, they were already friendly.”

“Huh.” is all Kenma can say in reply, curious eyes following Kuroo’s back as he heads for god knows where.

“You should ask him if you’re curious. He’d probably tell you.” Akaashi advises, “And tell me what he says after, because I never found out.”

“Huh? What makes you think he’ll tell me if he didn’t tell you?”

Akaashi raises his eyebrows, like Kenma was missing something painfully obvious.

He blinks, confused. “What?”

“Oh, wow. You’re serious.” Akaashi deadpans, turning around to go back to the others. “And here I was, thinking you’d be the _smart_ one around here.”

Kenma can’t even bring himself to say anything, feeling lost as the boy walks off.

_What a weird thing to say._

____

“Now, you listen to me!” Atsumu yells as he drags himself out of the sea water, “Just ‘cause ya had a tough three days doesn’t mean I’m gonna be yer punching bag! Ya get back here, ya scrub!”

Osamu laughs like a hyena, smiling so brightly that it’s almost like nothing had ever happened, as he reaches for the sand beneath his feet, grabbing a handful and tossing it directly at his brother’s face.

Kenma looks away laughing, but he can hear offended spluttering and choking noises as he does.

He taps his feet along to the melody of the song that’s playing, waiting for his hair to dry. He’s not sure what song it is, exactly, but it sounded like something by Mozart.

Kenma spots Yaku by the sea, relaxing on top of a towel. He’d never seen someone look so at peace. He could only be compared to a cat taking a nap directly under the light of the sun.

It was kind of funny, though. For someone who lived on an island, Yaku never swam with them. Maybe, he really was part of those magical families who were descendants of cats.

He looks down at the peaceful wet head of hair occupying his right thigh. It was starting to go numb, but he’d rather suffer through it than ask the boy to move.

He’s about to ask about Yaku until he gets distracted by the boy’s pretty nose bridge.

He looks away in a panic.

Kenma reaches into the bowl of candy Kuroo had brought for them and instead asks, “How’d you manage to get this?”

“Like I said,” Kuroo says, fingers tapping along to the music on top of his chest, “Ukai-san.”

Kenma purses his lips. “Can I ask you something about that?”

“Ask away, Kyanma K.”

“A lot of the guards here are harsh, but some of them aren’t so bad.” Kenma says, “Like.. Takeda-san, for example. And Ukai-san. Especially with you.”

Kuroo smirks. “Are you asking me if I’m a favorite? Because I am and it’s because of my kind personality and unbelievably good looks.”

“I don’t think I’d say that since you still end up in the Isolation Cell more than anyone else here.” Kenma clarifies, “But… they listen to you. You’ve built some kind of relationship with them, haven’t you? Especially with Ukai-san?”

Kuroo shrugs, shifting in his position, the tips of his hair tickling the inside of Kenma’s left thigh. “I guess I have.”

“Why?” Kenma asks. “And how?”

Kuroo takes some time to think about it. He stays silent, continuing to tap along to the classical music.

From a few feet away, they hear more yelling from the twins, and Bokuto’s booming laughter followed by Akaashi’s soft one. The two are in a back-hug position, sitting by the sea.

Kenma wonders about them too.

Before he can ask about it, Kuroo asks him something else.

“You know all the guards here are magic folk too, right?” Kuroo tells him. “They _all_ are. Powerful ones, too. Who were trained and have good control of their magic.”

Kenma nods. “I assumed.”

“Which means that they all understand us, at least a little bit, because they’ve gone through a lot of the things we have.” He continues, “This doesn’t go for all of them, but most of them were kept in places like this when they were young too. Ukai-san’s one of them. Takeda-san, too.”

Kenma bites the inside of his cheeks. “Then, why are they so harsh with punishments when they’d gone through the same things?”

Kuroo breathes out a laugh, shaking his head. “I know what harsh is, Kenma. And this isn’t that.”

He blinks down at the boy. “What _is_ harsh, then? If not what they did to the twins three days ago?”

“Kenma. I’ve been here ten years, remember?” Kuroo says, “Ten whole goddamn years before you. I’ve seen things and felt things that I wouldn’t wish on anyone, not even on the people who put us here in the first place.”

Kenma stays quiet, waiting for the boy to say more.

“I _know_ what harsh is. I _felt_ what harsh is. For years.” He says, voice low, “And I’ve done my best since then to keep any of you from having to feel the same thing. And Ukai-san’s done the same as much as he can… because he was one of us once. Just a few years ago, he was one of us.”

Kenma gets it now.

“So, he’s a _Mahika Island_ kid turned guard? Was he part of the Regular Block?”

Kuroo nods, smiling softly at the boy. His eyelashes are annoyingly long and distracting.

“They can all be a little harsh sometimes, still. But they’re not all that different from us, Kyanma.” He says, closing his eyes, sighing quietly. “They’re just doing their jobs the way they have to. And they have to do it whether they like it or not. They’re just trying to survive the best they can, too. They’re just trying to _live._ Just like us… their time is borrowed. They’re trying to stretch out that borrowed time as far as they can.”

Kenma directs his gaze towards the sea.

The twins are in the middle of trying to make Yaku’s towel float in mid-air without him noticing.

“You’re so dramatic,” Kenma teases, without looking at the boy using his lap as a pillow, “Why do you say that like we’re all dying or something?”

“Well,” Kuroo can only seem to smile weakly at that before looking away. He reaches for the bowl of candies and pops one in his mouth. “I always have been one for the dramatics, haven’t I?”

The sinking feeling in Kenma’s gut that tells him there’s too much he doesn’t understand, makes its way deeper and deeper each day.

**June, 1944**

“I didn’t even know it ever rained around here.” Kenma says lazily, his head resting against the couch’s armrest, legs comfortably thrown over Kuroo’s warm lap.

Kuroo chuckles fondly. “Hey, you need to get it out of your head that you’re just on vacation now. What kind of vacation lasts five months and serves you gunk for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”

Kenma chuckles under his breath. “How uncharacteristically pessimistic of you.”

“That’s how they get us and suck our souls out, Kenma. They stick us in this prison and make it look like a paradise so we don’t ever complain.”

Kenma sighs deeply, because he knows he’s right. Has always known it.

“Well,” He stretches, “But I guess spending free time here isn’t that bad.”

Their usually blue skies and white clouds had recently been replaced with grey rain clouds. As a result, they’d had to start spending their free time in the Music Room.

It wasn’t much. The walls were as plain and boring as all the other rooms, save for the posters of Fred Astaire and Judy Garland. There were three record players, all the same, set side by side in a corner of the room in an orderly fashion. There’s a pile of old records stacked one on top of the other on a little wooden table, and some instruments sprawled around the room messily. A piano, guitars, drums, Kenma was pretty sure he’d even seen a violin here, somewhere.

His favorite part of the room, though, were the couches. Softer than any of their beds, which didn’t make any sense to him. But right now, as he closed his eyes while Bing Crosby sang straight into their souls, he wasn’t exactly complaining.

“Hey, Yaku.” Osamu calls out from his lying position on the carpet, “Did ya hear ‘bout that new kid in the Regular Block? Apparently, he keeps talkin’ ‘bout how he knows you.”

Yaku pauses from arranging the stack of records. “Who?”

“Some foreign lookin’ kid, ain’t he?” Atsumu points out, “What is he? Half Russian or somethin’?”

That seems to make something in Yaku’s head click. “Haiba Lev?”

“Yeah, that’s the name.” Osamu snaps his fingers. “So ya really do know him, huh? Damn, everyone thinks he’s kiddin’.”

Yaku’s shoulders sink, like he’s disappointed. “Yeah. We were neighbors back then. He was the only other magical kid I knew from back home.” He sighs, rubbing his face frustratedly, _“Shit,_ I can’t believe they got him.”

The Music Room is quiet for a moment, nothing but the muted sound of Bing Crosby singing _Silent Night, Holy Night, all is calm, all is bright_ , when it’s way past Christmas Season.

“It’ll be alright, Yakkun.” Bokuto tries to comfort, “He’s in the Regular Block, isn’t he? He’ll probably be just fine. I’m sure he’s a good kid.”

_He’s in the Regular Block so he’s gonna be alright?_

Kenma wonders what that means for them.

Were _they_ not fine? Were _they_ not gonna be alright?

Yaku still looks sullen but he nods.

“I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid like try to get himself to where I am,” He says, hands shaking slightly as he tries and goes back to arranging, “He always used to follow me around like an idiot. When he found out I was gonna be brought here, he’d tried to come with me. Before he could rat himself out, I teleported him back into his house, that cursed headache of a child.”

Akaashi lowered his head. “Were his folks magical too?”

Yaku shakes his head. “They love him anyway, though. It’s probably why he’d lasted so long without getting caught.”

“Non-magic folk who actually _like_ their magical kid.” Atsumu mumbles, mostly to himself, “It’s too bad he’s here now. That’s even rarer than male banshees.”

The air turns somber after hearing those words, their expressions mirroring the weather.

At the suddenly decline in mood, Bokuto claps his hands against his thighs and makes to stand. “Enough of this miserable talk! The damned music isn’t helping! Someone play the _Boogie Woogie_ record or something!”

Yaku can’t help but chuckle at that, starting to look through the pile obediently. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

Now placated, Bokuto sinks back into his position, pressing a kiss to Akaashi’s temple as the boy makes himself comfortable in his arms.

Kenma stares at them, wondering as he always does, and realizes he’s never even asked. He turns to Kuroo who’s busy drumming to the music on Kenma’s chicken legs.

“Hey, Kuroo?” Kenma asks quietly, voice soft so the others don’t hear. “Can I ask you something?”

“What do I _always_ say?” Kuroo shoots back, “Ask away, Kyanma K.”

“Bokuto and Keiji… are they together?” He asks, wringing his hands together nervously, as if it were a crime to ask, “Like… _romantically?”_

Kuroo freezes only for a short moment. His hands stop moving and his shoulders go a little stiff.

But he recovers quickly, turning his gaze to Kenma, and then he just _looks_ at him.

Examining him, in a way.

“If I told you they were, would you have a problem with that?”

Kenma doesn’t even have to pause or hesitate before he shakes his head. “Not at all.”

Kuroo smiles like he already knew that’d be his answer, but was still relieved.

“Then, yes. They are.”

Kenma smiles gently, eyeing the two lovebirds quietly talking to each other on the opposite couch, a small part of him envious.

“How lucky… to find love even in this secluded place.”

“Oh, they didn’t find love here.” Kuroo corrects, “The reason they’re here together is _because_ they were in love.”

Kenma blinks at him, intrigued. “How?”

The boy sighs deeply, the way people do before they begin a long-winded bedtime story they’re being forced to tell.

“Well,” He starts, “They were brought here around six years after I was. I think Bokuto was fourteen and Akaashi was thirteen. They started dating that early on. First love and everything, you know?”

“Somehow,” Kenma says, “I’m not surprised to hear that.”

“Both their folks are non-magic and grew up teaching them that magic folk were cursed creatures.” Kuroo explains, “And so, when they found out that they were one of those said cursed creatures, they hid it. They were pretty good at hiding it, too. Managed to do it for about seven years or so.”

“Finding out that they were… _that_ way and finding out that they were magical came hand in hand.” Kuroo says, voice laced with what could only be sadness from the deepest parts of him, “Their parents were close, believing the two were just friends. On the day they were brought here, it was because they’d been caught kissing. Both sets of folks sort of went mad but Akaashi’s dad, especially… tried to kill his own damn son that morning.”

Kenma tries to swallow the lump in his throat but his mouth feels too dry for it.

“That made Bokuto go crazy. He lost control of his powers. When he pushed Akaashi’s dad away from him, he _flew._ Knocked his head really hard against concrete. Broke his back while he was at it. He was apparently in a coma for weeks.”

_“Christ.”_ Kenma exclaims, under his breath.

“Akaashi’s mother was about to attack Bo for doing that, so Akaashi used his mind control to hold her back. His eyes started glowing red and everything. They were _terrified._ It wasn’t only their parents who’d witnessed it, a whole bunch of neighbors did too. The Department of Magical Youth came not long after, to take them both into custody.”

Kuroo exhales loudly like he’s tired of it all, leaning his head back.

“What a disaster for people like us, don’t you think? To be both queer and magical in the wondrous time of the 1940s.”

_Yeah,_ Kenma thinks as he stares at his hands, still wrung together tightly on top of his lap. _He would know._

“There’s something I don’t understand, though.”

“Hm?” Kuroo hums.

“It was only Bokuto whose magic ended up harming anyone.” He points out, “So… why is Keiji in the HR Block too?”

Kuroo only shrugs, like he thought the answer was obvious.

“He wasn’t about to go anywhere without Bo. He’d begged them to take him wherever Bo was going. So, they did.” He continues, “He would’ve ended up here regardless, though. I mean, with the whole using his magic to make a guy hit himself in the face with a record player episode.”

Kenma chuckles. “Right… there was that.”

“It’s sad but it’s beautiful, in a way.” Kuroo says, eyes distant. “They’re locked up, but they’re happier here than they ever were out there… because here, they get to be who they are without ever having to hide.”

Kenma gets that. Sadly, he gets that completely.

After letting those words sink in, he looks up at him again.

“Hey, Kuroo.” Kenma purses his lips. “Are you a magical queer too?”

Kuroo’s eyes widen slightly before he starts laughing, reaching out to pinch Kenma’s cheeks fondly.

“What _I_ think… is that those two things are pretty much the same thing, anyway.” He grins, “We didn’t choose it, and people are scared of us for it… but we’re wonderfully special too, because of it. Don’t you think?”

Kenma can’t think at all right now, not with him smiling like that.

Their quiet conversation is interrupted by the sound of a record scratch and the intro of a tune that sounded painfully familiar.

“Hey,” Bokuto exclaims, stretching his neck to turn and look at Yaku, “Is that the Wizard of Oz record?”

“Yep. Sorry, it was the first one I could find.”

“Nah,” Bokuto waves his hand, “I love that record. Leave it on.”

As the song starts, everyone in the room sings along softly, Kuroo humming quietly against his ear in that low voice of his.

That painfully familiar voice and that painfully familiar tune.

_Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high…_

The twins lay side by side on the carpet, lazily making some of the instruments float as they mouth along to the song. Yaku spins around in his chair, head tilted towards the ceiling, eyes closed shut as he sang. Bokuto and Akaashi sing too, their gazes focused on their joint hands resting on top of each of their thighs.

And Kuroo just keeps humming and Kenma starts to wonder again, and decides that if the boy’s magic wasn’t related to fire, then he had to be a siren.

That would at least give an explanation for the uncomfortable tightness he was feeling in his chest, because surely it couldn’t be anything else.

_There’s a land that I’ve heard of, once in a lullaby…_

“Why do all of you memorize this song?” Kenma asks, amused.

“Wizard of Oz is one of the few movie tapes we have in the TV room.” Kuroo stops humming to answer, “I’ve watched it at least fifty times, give or take. I memorize Toto’s bark pattern, I think.”

Kenma unconsciously starts mimicking the piano with one hand against Kuroo’s arm, and thinks back to the first few nights he’d ever spent in _Mahika_.

“Hey… do you hum this song in your room at night?”

Kuroo furrows his eyebrows, looking down at Kenma. “What? No.”

Kenma tilts his head. “Really? I could’ve _sworn_ it was you I kept hearing humming this song through the walls.”

“Jesus,” is all Kuroo says, “I didn’t know this place was haunted too… but I guess that shouldn’t come as a shock.”

_Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue…_

The voices surrounding the room slowly get louder, mixing together and creating an almost haunting harmony. Kenma doesn’t miss the way the corners of Kuroo’s lips curl up into a smile, the fondest he’s ever seen on a human being.

The saddest he’s ever seen, too.

“You care about them a lot.” Kenma thinks out loud. “I mean… you all care about each other a lot.”

Kuroo’s facial expression doesn’t change.

He only asks, “Well, who else do we have to care about?”

So, Kenma asks a question he’s been asking in his head all along. Something he’s wondered since the first day. Something he’s wondered all this time but had always been too scared to ask, because he’d felt like maybe wondering would be better than knowing.

“There were others, weren’t there? Before there were only the six of you…” Kenma asks, “There must’ve been others. Like, that other banshee.”

Kuroo’s expression tells him that this was a question he didn’t want to answer. But he does anyway.

“There were many others.”

Kenma licks his lips. “What happened to them, then? Were they rehabilitated and brought back to normal society? Even if they were in the HR Block?”

This time, after a moment’s hesitation, Kuroo decides not to answer.

Instead, he starts singing.

_“Someday, I’ll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me…”_

Kenma sighs inwardly, whispers, “I don’t know what it is you’re trying to protect me from… but I don’t need your protection.”

_Where troubles melt like lemon drops, away above the chimney tops, that’s where you’ll find me…_

“I know.” Kuroo answers, closing his eyes, listening to the sound of his friends’ voices as if they were the very last thing that were keeping him breathing, “But let me, anyway.”

_Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly…_

At that moment, Kenma understands Akaashi Keiji, just a little bit. He _understands._

Because he realizes, at that very moment, that he would probably follow Kuroo Tetsurou, anywhere _._

He closes his eyes too and starts singing along to this song that he realizes he knows like the back of his hand, like it’s always been somewhere in the back of his head, all this time.

He closes his eyes, sings, his voice perfectly blending in with the rest of theirs, so naturally like they’d been waiting for him to join in all their lives.

_Birds fly over the rainbow, why then, oh, why can’t I?_

He realizes he would probably follow _any_ of them, anywhere.

**November 2003, The First Nightmare**

Kuroo Tetsurou had just turned eight years old. He dreams. He always dreams, but never ones that were quite like this.

That night, he wakes up in a cold sweat, panting, and crying. His sobs sound more like pained yells, so his father had rushed into the room in a panic, just like he has many other nights before.

But this night was different.

“It’s okay, Tetsurou.” He says into his hair, voice soft and calming in a way only a father’s can be, “Your dad’s right here. It’s okay. You’re okay. Come on. Breathe in through your nose, hold it for five seconds…. And then breathe out through your mouth… that’s it.”

After a few more inhales and exhales, he brings himself to talk.

“It’s my dreams, dad.” Kuroo cries into his father’s chest, “My dreams were magic. They’re magic.”

“What does that mean, baby?” He asks, running his fingers through his messy and sweaty locks.

“I don’t know.” Kuroo says, voice trembling the way his entire body is. “I don’t know.”

It’s only once he’s fully calmed down, that his father helps him back into his bed, tucking him in up to his chin.

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby so you can go back to sleep?”

Kuroo closes his eyes, nodding his head softly.

After only the first few notes of the song and the first few strokes of his calloused fingers against his hair, he starts to drift off.

_“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high…”_

Kuroo, in his half-conscious state, opens his mouth weakly, and sings along.

_“There’s a land that I’ve heard of… once in a lullaby…”_

His father pauses, taken aback. “How do you know that song, Tetsurou? Did you hear it from somewhere?”

Right before he completely drifts off, he says, “It’s my dreams, dad. My dreams… they’re _magic.”_

_If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why oh why can’t I?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also short, because shit is about to go down in the next chapter. See you guys tomorrow!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advanced.

**July, 1944**

Kenma feels like if he’d been locked up anywhere that wasn’t here, he probably would’ve gone crazy by the first week.

The waves crash, linger, pull back. They crash, linger, pull back, consistently, everyday.

The sand stays warm. The ocean stays blue.

 _Cerulean_ , Kuroo would always say. _It isn’t just blue, it’s cerulean. I read it once, in a book._

Kenma thinks about the older magic folk, those who got caught later on in their lives and were brought to that place in the city. That place and the dark, foreboding aura it gave out. Only from the looks of it, you could tell that it wasn’t a home, but a prison. Anyone with magic could feel it strongly. So strongly that even non-magic folk could probably feel it too, if they tried hard enough.

That dark aura and the stench of death and misery.

He didn’t get any of that here, strangely.

Just a lot of warmth. Melancholy. But at times, emptiness.

He hasn’t decided yet if that emptiness is better than misery.

The sand feels warmer than usual beneath his feet, when joined by the comfort of Yaku’s arm against his left side and Kuroo’s against his right.

They’d been sitting in silence for longer than usual. Something about it felt different. Scary, even, in a way.

Whenever Kenma spent his time with the two, it was always filled with non-stop bickering, not unlike being with the twins. But sometimes, once in a while, they just sat quietly, a comfortable and warm silence draped over them like a warm blanket.

Today’s silence was different.

The waves crash, linger, and pull back. _Crash, linger, pull back._

The sky is blue, the clouds white, the sea cerulean.

“So,” Yaku starts casually, as if they hadn’t just spent the last twenty minutes in complete silence, watching the rest of their block mates chase each other in circles around them, Akaashi’s laughter louder than usual. “It’s my eighteenth birthday in a few weeks.”

Kenma raises his head, looking up at him, but Yaku doesn’t meet his eyes. “Oh, right. Happy birthday.”

Yaku smiles, eyes fixed on the horizon. “I said in a few weeks, kiddo.”

“Advanced, then.” Kenma adds.

“Thank you.” Yaku chuckles, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately.

Kuroo doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at him, Kenma doesn’t even think he’s _breathing_.

For some reason, the boy’s expression is stiff beyond belief.

“Hey, Kuroo,” Yaku calls softly, “You _better_ take care of yourself, you hear me? Stop getting into trouble for everyone else’s sakes. Stop turning that damned Isolation Cell into your fucking break room.”

Kuroo’s jaw tightens. Kenma feels like he’s missing something here but he doesn’t know what.

“If you manage to find a way, somehow…” Yaku continues, his fingers tightening his hold around his legs, “You’re smart and now, you have Kenma here too. You could go somewhere far away. Find a place. Bring the guys. Live life normally, listen to more music, play more games. Find a way to—”

“Shut _up.”_ Kuroo says through gritted teeth. “Just… stop talking, please.”

Yaku normally didn’t take Kuroo’s words seriously, seemingly the only one who Kuroo didn’t have as much of a hold on compared to the rest of them.

The closest to being his equal around here.

But this time, he listens without complaint. He doesn’t say anything more. They don’t even look at each other.

Kenma doesn’t ask.

Somehow, he already knows that if he does, he’s not going to like whatever it is he’s going to hear.

__

After that day, Kuroo gets distant.

He moves differently, speaks differently, like there’s a rain cloud hovering over his head that never goes away. Kenma tries to be the rock that Kuroo’s been for him all this time, but his efforts go either unnoticed or ignored.

Days pass and then weeks. Before he knows it, he finds himself missing the sound of Kuroo’s laughter. The genuine one, that sounded more like an evil cackle than anything else.

Even stranger, no one else seems to question it.

Not for the first time, Kenma feels like he’s missing out on something important that no one seemed to be willing to tell him.

Today, he’s stuck on dishwashing duty with Akaashi.

“Kenma, can you pass me those bowls?”

He quietly does what he’s asked, glancing at the boy from the corner of his eye, trying to catch what kind of expression he’s wearing, but doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

So, he decides to test his luck.

“You know,” Kenma starts the conversation, “Kuroo… told me recently. About how you and Bokuto ended up here.”

“Ah,” Akaashi smiles softly, “I see. I haven’t thought about those memories in a while.”

“I was just wondering… if you knew how everyone else ended up here.” Kenma tries, “If they’re alright with me knowing, that is.”

Akaashi doesn’t look up from scrubbing as he talks.

“I don’t think any of our stories are all that different from any of the other stories you’d expect to hear from someone in _Mahika.”_ Akaashi explains, “The twins for example, the first time their powers manifested they were asleep. They were having some sort of… joint nightmare.”

“Something to do with their telepathy?” Kenma asks.

Akaashi nods. “They’ve gotten better at that now. They don’t always have joint nightmares anymore. But back then, it was pretty terrible. Remember when Osamu made the entire hall float?”

How could he forget _that_?

“When they first arrived, it was a lot worse. Kuroo once had to get stitches because he was thrown against the wall. Koutarou still has a scar on his neck from the time they accidentally shattered his window and cut him with a glass shard.”

Kenma’s breath hitches. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“We’re magic folk so we know things like that happen. Especially when we get emotional and lose our grip on our powers… especially for us, who were never properly trained.” Akaashi explains, “But you can imagine what it was like for their non-magic folks… to wake up in the middle of the night because their sons telekinetically tossed a cabinet at them, all because they were having a bad nightmare.”

Kenma gulps. “Did they die?”

Akaashi shakes his head.

“Luckily, they didn’t. They were heavily injured, though. Couldn’t even look their sons in the eye again. I’m sure both twins still have terrible dreams about that night.” He pauses as he wipes a plate dry, adding it to the clean pile, “They’re loud now but they barely ever spoke the first few months. Even Kuroo had a hard time reaching them.”

Kenma bites back a smile and fails. “Has he always been the head of this place?”

“I don’t know.” Akaashi answers honestly, “As far as I’ve been here, yeah. But I’m probably not the best person to ask that to. Try Yaku. He’s the only one who’s been here almost as long as Kuroo has.”

Kenma thinks back to the beach. Thinks back to the way Yaku spoke as if he was going somewhere very far away, sometime very soon.

“How’d he end up here?” Kenma asks, “Yaku, I mean. He doesn’t seem like someone who’d lose control… I barely even see him use his magic at all.”

Akaashi’s expression dims, suddenly. It takes him a little while to gather his thoughts.

“Yaku… didn’t grow up with good parents. They were well off, but they were never kind.” He says, voice hushed, like he’s letting Kenma in on a secret that’s barely ever said out loud, “Not even because he was a magical kid. But… just because.”

Kenma understood very well what it was to have parents who weren’t kind, just because.

“His magic manifested while his father was in the middle of beating him really badly.” Akaashi continues, “I wasn’t here yet when he arrived, but I heard that his face was unrecognizable… looked nothing like he did in the picture in his file, because of how swollen he was.”

Suddenly, it didn’t really matter to Kenma what Yaku might’ve done. He reckons that whatever it is that happened, his father probably deserved what he got. But he asks anyway.

“What’d he do to him?”

“He grabbed his father by the arms and in the next second, they were both submerged in the deepest end of their house pool.” Akaashi says, “Neither Yaku nor his father were good swimmers. They almost died.”

Neither of them are moving. The faucet just keeps running, their hands soapy and still, tightly gripping onto the bubbly eating utensils.

That’s why he’d never seen Yaku swim.

“Did he mean to do that?” Kenma asks.

Akaashi purses his lips.

“That’s the question that keeps him up at night.” He says, looking up at Kenma with an expression that he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. “He says… he doesn’t even know himself, if he meant to do it. He couldn’t even answer the police when they asked.”

Kenma only realizes he isn’t breathing when his chest starts hurting. He exhales slowly.

And he feels like he’s heard enough for the day, but knows that he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he didn’t ask.

So, he takes a deep breath, “What about Kuroo?”

At that question, Akaashi only shakes his head. “He’s the only one we know nothing about. Not what he did, not what kind of magic he has. Nothing. Not me, not anyone.”

“Why not?”

“He was here long before any of us got here.” Akaashi explains, promptly going back to scrubbing, “No matter how many times any of us asked, we’d never get a straight answer.”

“What about Yaku, then? Wouldn’t he know?” Kenma presses, a little desperate at this point to get something, _anything,_ “You said he’s been here almost as long as Kuroo has, right?”

“I said _almost.”_ Akaashi points out, “But even then, he got here a whole two years after Kuroo did. He says he doesn’t know anything. And if Yaku and Koutarou don’t know, you can bet that the rest of us haven’t got a clue either.”

Kenma sighs defeatedly and tries to go back to doing the chores, but his hands move mechanically, his gaze fixed on the wall.

“But there are rumors.” Akaashi continues suddenly, snapping Kenma out of his trance, “I don’t know how much truth they hold because there are a lot of rumors around here that don’t hold any at all. But…”

Kenma waits. “But..?”

“They say that Kuroo’s the only one among us who’s actually killed someone.”

Kenma doesn’t know what to say to that. He’d already heard it coming out of Kuroo’s own mouth, several months back.

He hadn’t believed it then and he doesn’t believe it now.

“Even if he did,” Kenma says, “He didn’t mean to do it.”

He says it like it’s a fact, because to him, it is.

“I know.” Akaashi says in response, because it’s fact to him too. “We all do.”

__

Kenma makes his Isolation Cell debut six months into his stay in _Mahika._ Apparently, that’s a record. Nobody had ever lasted that long before. Kenma isn’t sure if it’s something to be proud of, though.

It’s no one’s fault but his own, really, and the stupid rules created by non-magic folk for magic folk. That never made much sense to him.

But it all starts with Kuroo.

More specifically, it all starts with a lack of Kuroo.

“Can we talk?” Kenma asks, going up to the boy who was busying himself with fruits, sitting alone on a cafeteria table.

He was determined to get to the bottom of things after a painful few weeks. “ _Please_. It’s important.”

“What about?” Kuroo asks without looking at him.

“You know what.”

“Then, that can wait.” He says easily, eyes not leaving the orange he was currently trying to peel. “Can you go get me more oranges? Bokuto likes these.”

He doesn’t know what exactly possesses him to do this, but he slaps the orange out of Kuroo’s hands. “No.”

Kenma feels curious eyes on them from all around the cafeteria and tries not to let it get to him.

That at least makes Kuroo finally look up at him, albeit he looks pissed off. But also, a little impressed by Kenma’s uncharacteristic display of aggression.

But instead of saying anything, Kuroo only sighs and bends down to pick the orange back up.

He continues peeling like nothing had happened. “Fine then. I’ll get more myself later.”

“You’ve been ignoring me.” Kenma presses.

“I haven’t.”

“You’ve been ignoring _everyone.”_

“No, I haven’t.” Kuroo bites back, “I’m here, aren’t I? All the time. How can I even avoid any of you? We’re stuck together on an island, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“You _know_ what I mean.”

With that, Kuroo finally cracks and tosses the orange aside harshly. Bokuto’s gonna hate that. Kenma considers the display of emotion a win, even if the emotion is anger.

Kuroo glares up at him. “Why are you being so damn stubborn?”

“You’re hiding something from me. You’re _all_ hiding something from me.” Kenma accuses, finally letting out all the things he’s kept held in all this time, “I want to know what it is now.”

“If you want to know so badly, ask one of the guards.” He says, “Because you’re not going to hear it from me, not right now.”

 _“Why?”_ Kenma damn near begs, “What are you trying to shield me from?”

Kuroo gets up from his seat and turns around, as if about to make a run for it, but Kenma grabs him by the wrist before he can.

“I deserve an explanation. I’m one of you guys now. Stop treating me like an outsider.”

“It’s _not_ that.” Kuroo argues. “You don’t get it.”

“Then fucking explain it to me.” Kenma says, tightening his grip around Kuroo’s wrist, “So that I get it.”

Kuroo’s jaw is tight, his hands clenched into fists, but Kenma doesn’t let up on his grip on him.

He _won’t_. Not until he gets answers.

Slowly, Kuroo relaxes, taking a deep breath in through his nose for five seconds, and then a deep breath out for another five.

Kenma knows that his father had taught him that when he was a kid, to help him calm down whenever he had bad dreams. He’s trying to remember how exactly he knows that, and why he doesn’t remember whether Kuroo had even told him about it, when the boy finally starts talking.

“You know,” Kuroo starts without turning to look at him, “At one point, every kid who’d ended up here, was just like you. Hell, right now… I’m sure a ton of them still are. Because we all come in here not knowing anything, because no one ever warns us about what’s to come.”

_What’s to come?_

“And then we grow older, and we see things, we experience things… we grow older and we learn, because we don’t have a _choice_.” Kuroo continues, voice trembling with an emotion Kenma doesn’t recognize on him, “And all I remember, is that the first thing I wanted to do when I first realized what exactly we’re doing here… was to go back to when I knew nothing at all.”

Kenma feels his nails digging crescents into Kuroo’s skin, but he can’t bring himself to relax.

“Because I didn’t know that that was going to be my last chance to feel what it was to just be a fucking _kid.”_ Kuroo’s voice cracks on the last word but he doesn’t stop there, “When you grow old, you lose any sort of excuse to remain ignorant, but for fucking _children_ … don’t you think we deserve to be, at least for a little while? For just a _little_ while, to enjoy what it is to be a dumb fucking kid who doesn’t have to know a damn thing about the world?”

Kuroo finally turns to look at him and his eyes are moist. It scares him.

This is Kuroo. He didn’t even know Kuroo could cry.

“That’s why.” He says, voice low as a whisper, “I just want you to be ignorant for a little longer. For as long as you _can_ be. For this place… to feel _warm,_ for just a little longer.”

Kenma’s chest feels tight and he isn’t sure why because none of these things eased any of the worries in his head.

He hadn’t gotten any answers at all, just more questions.

“Kuroo,” Kenma says and his voice is shaking, “What does that even _mean?”_

“Don’t push me to say anything more.” Kuroo says, “You’re not going to get anything else out of me, not right now.”

“God _damn_ it, Kuroo!” Kenma yells, “Who are you to tell me what I should and shouldn’t know?!”

He only realizes what he’d done after he’d done it. His eyes widen as he slaps a hand to his mouth. Kuroo swiftly turns his head around, expression panicked.

_Rule #1: Never use your magic to harm._

Kenma’s magic didn’t give him a choice. Because of how it worked, his rule was just that he was never allowed to raise his voice. It didn’t make sense. Obviously, it was a rule made by non-magic folk for magic folk to follow.

But he had to follow it, anyway.

Before he can even take a step forward, run, hide, he hears speedy footsteps rushing towards his direction. He wants to run but finds himself frozen in place.

 _“HR 002,_ hands behind your back.”

He sighs in defeat, closing his eyes, resigned to his imminent fate. It was a long time coming, anyway.

He silently complies.

“Wait a second,” Kuroo rushes, hands raised in front of him as if trying to appease the guard somehow, “Wait, see, it was my fault. I provoked him so it’s my fault and _look,_ no one died, see? He hasn’t done anything! It’s fine!”

“Sorry, kid. I know how banshees work too.” The guard says, lightly pushing Kenma towards the direction of the exit doors. “But I’ve gotta follow protocol. Or else, we’ll all be in worse trouble from the higher ups.”

“But wait,” Kuroo tries again, scrambling desperately, “What if I took his place and—”

“Kuroo.” Kenma interrupts, shaking his head, sending him a soft, reassuring smile. “It was my fault, anyway. It’s _fine.”_

“If it makes you feel any better,” The guard says, looking genuinely apologetic, “As long as no one’s badly harmed or anything, he only has to stay for one night.”

“But…” Kuroo drifts off, running out of things to say.

Kenma shakes his head again, starting his way towards his first walk of shame.

And he says in the calmest way he can, knowing the boy was probably already beating himself up in his head, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kuroo. It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

The first thing Kenma thinks about the Isolation Cell, is that he’s grateful it wasn’t too small. It wasn’t that different in size from his actual bedroom. It was empty and smelled kind of terrible, but he could work with that.

The bed was creaky and made loud noises every time he moved, but he’d expected that much. The only source of light and outside air was coming from a barred window that Kenma wouldn’t be able to reach even if he tried, it being closer to the ceiling than the ground.

The room was absolutely barren save for the bed, the toilet, the sink, and the rusty clock on the wall.

There was a weird air about the Isolation Cell. One that made it earn its name. There was something so uncomfortable about it, one that probably only magic folk would understand. This was what Kuroo meant when he’d said that magic wouldn’t work in here. There was a strong force, like the room had been charmed or something.

To magic-folk, a charmed room felt constraining and suffocating but not to the point of pain, so he at least felt grateful for that. Kenma imagined that it’d be worse for someone who was non-magic.

He still remembers what it was like before his magic had manifested. To a regular person, charms or curses like these… were physically painful.

There really isn’t anything to do but lie in bed and it’s only after an hour of that, that he remembers something. He gasps quietly.

Instantly, he bends down, head hovering over the side of the bed, when he spots a cardboard box filled with what seemed to be books, magazines, and notebooks. He spots a few pens and a flashlight too.

He can’t help the smile that makes its way to his face. He never thought he’d say this, but for the first time, he thanks God that Kuroo and the others had been here so many times before.

He grabs the notebook on top of the pile. It looked worn out so Kenma can imagine how many times they’d used it. He flips it open to the first page and starts laughing immediately.

It’s a drawing of a giant penis. How sophisticated.

He flips to the second page and it’s filled to the brim with notes and doodles, with different variations of extremely messy handwriting.

_This bed is TERRIBLE. I accidentally kicked it and broke a LEG. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SLEEP NOW? And akaashi, I know you’d never end up here, but I’ll leave a message anyway. I love you! – bokuto_

_That chocolate tasted damn good. I regret absolutely nothing. – The best looking of HR_

_I’ll have it be known that it was not my fault that that record player broke. It was Bokuto’s fault and I stand by that statement. Also, Kuroo, I ripped off a page of that magazine you like to make a paper crane – Yaku, the actual best looking of HR_

_For Christ’s sake Yaku_

_Day 3 and it’s the second time so far that I’ve had to survive in here while my brother takes a shit just a few steps away from me. This is probably the worst part of this punishment, all in all. – Osamu the great_

_Screw you Samu – Atsumu the greater_

Kenma smiles, reaching for the fountain pen in the box, uncapping it and leaving in his own message. A simple;

_Made my Isolation Cell debut today. Thank you for making sure I don’t die of boredom. – Kyanma K_

After a few hours of browsing through it, reading through pages of useless conversation and vulgar doodles, he falls asleep with a soft smile on his face and the notebook snug in his hands.

When he wakes up, it’s to the sound of the heavy metal door opening, a little light from outside pouring in, making Kenma groan, shielding his eyes.

He realizes the natural light is gone and he glances at the clock that tells him that it’s past 10PM. He notices the untouched tray of food by his bed.

He’d accidentally skipped dinner. Kuroo would kill him.

“Kid?”

Kenma narrows his eyes, trying to focus on whoever was speaking, and he realizes it’s Ukai.

“Oh,” Kenma says, sitting up, “Wow. Am I getting out early?”

“Unfortunately, you are not so lucky.” He says, reaching for something in his back pocket, and then handing it to him. “This is from your neighbor.”

Kenma hesitantly takes the small, folded piece of paper. “Kuroo?”

“He asked for me to pass it on to you.” Ukai says, already making his way out. He motions to the tray, “And eat a little before going back to sleep. G’night, kiddo.”

Kenma yawns. “Thank you, Ukai-san. Good night.”

Once he walks out and closes the door behind him, the room returns to complete darkness.

He lazily reaches a hand back down into the box, feeling for the flashlight. Once he finds it, he pulls it out and flicks it on, unfolding the paper as he does.

To fill the eerie silence, he softly reads it out loud.

_I’ve never talked about this to anyone. You’d be the first. You should feel honored, Kyanma K. I’m about to tell you something I’ve kept hidden for about ten years now! This’ll be a little long but bear with me here, okay?_

_See, I had this dream recently. Actually, I have lots of these dreams. It’s hard to explain how they work, but just know that they’re vivid and special and they leave me feeling weird when I wake up._

_Do you ever have dreams about people you don’t know and faces you don’t recognize, but you’re somehow sure that you know them? Somehow, you know that you love them?_

_This probably doesn’t make much sense to you. That’s okay. Listen, anyway. In one of these dreams I had, actually in a lot of my dreams, there’s this boy. He reminds me a lot of you, actually. Except his hair is a weird color. In my dreams, we’re always playing some sport. I still don’t know what it’s called, but we wear red uniforms and slam a ball back and forth over a net. I don’t know what it is, but it feels fun. I also spend a lot of time in those dreams just sitting next to that boy watching him play something called ‘video games.’ I know this’ll make no sense to you, but it’s kind of like a tiny TV that you can hold in your hands and you press buttons to control the cartoons on the screen._

_I’m not sure why… but just sitting next to that boy, watching him play, doing absolutely nothing, makes me feel like the happiest person in the world. All he ever has to do is be there and I’m perfectly content. You remind me a lot of him. Not just because you look like him (save for the hair), but because you never have to do anything to make me happy._

_You just have to be there, and that in itself is everything to me. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?_

_I’m sorry for earlier. Soon, I’ll tell you everything. Because I’ll have no choice. And one day, somewhere else, somewhere far away, maybe we’ll get to play sports in red uniforms and play ‘video games’ too. As long as it’s with you, I’m sure it’ll be fun whatever we do. I’ll see you tomorrow, Kenma._

  * _Kuroo_



There’s only one thought in Kenma’s mind as he tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes while failing miserably at it.

One thought that sends him to sleep with the dopiest grin on his face, despite being locked up in a dark, grey cell.

_Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?_

_Yes,_ Kenma thinks as he drifts off. _I understand that you pretty much just told me you love me._

**August 7, 1944**

If Kenma knew that all it would take to get Kuroo to go back to normal was for him to spend a night in the Isolation Cell, he would’ve done it weeks ago.

The second he stepped out, the first thing he’d heard was Kuroo’s evil cackle of a laugh and Bokuto’s booming voice, probably in the middle of telling some dumb joke.

And for the next few days, he hears a lot of that laughter.

Kuroo laughs again, his _real_ laugh, and he smiles again, genuinely. Kenma knows that it probably only served as some form of illusion, like putting a thin veil over his head to mask his sadness, but it works perfectly.

Because suddenly, Kenma forgets whatever it is that he’d wanted to ask.

Those answers didn’t matter anymore, when trying to find them risked losing Kuroo’s smile again.

“Bo, I love you but if you’d managed to break _another_ one of the record players, I’m dragging you straight to the Isolation Cell myself.” Kuroo scolds, leaning down to take a closer look at the contraption.

“I swear I didn’t do anything!” Bokuto exclaims defensively, “I controlled my strength when I touched it! I swear!”

They were, apparently, celebrating two things.

Kenma’s Isolation Cell debut as well as Yaku’s _day-before-your-birthday_ birthday party. They’d planned some sort of HR Dance Craze for their Free Time, which he and Yaku had vehemently disagreed to having, but obviously, seeing as they’re having it anyway, their pleads had fallen on deaf ears.

“This is the only one that’s available right now, damn it!” Kuroo complains, “If you broke this, we don’t have anything!”

“I _didn’t_ break it!”

Kuroo swivels around at Kenma and Yaku, who’d been standing quietly amused by the door. “Did you two do this to avoid dancing?”

They raise both their hands in the air, feigning innocence.

Kuroo huffs and promptly returns to his tweaking. “Just you wait. I’m going to _fix_ this and by _God,_ we are _going_ to dance to some Fred Astaire.”

Yaku scoffs quietly from next to him.

“Hey, Kenma. While they’re busy being stupid, can I talk to you about something?”

Kenma raises his brows. “Yeah, of course. Go ahead.”

Yaku subtly motions with his head to somewhere outside the Music Room and the secrecy peaks Kenma’s interest.

They manage to navigate their way out of the room and into a corner of the hallway unnoticed and Kenma’s not going to lie, the last time someone had brought him aside like this and told him that they needed to talk to him about something, he’d ended up on _Mahika Island,_ so he doesn’t exactly have a good feeling about this.

He makes that known.

“Am I in trouble?” Kenma asks, “Because whatever it is, I didn’t do it. Unless, it’s hiding the _Boogie Woogie_ record. That, I did.”

“What? No.” Yaku denies, “But… _nice.”_

“Oh.” Kenma blinks. “What is it then?”

Yaku takes a deep breath, glancing behind them to make sure no one’s caught whiff of them being gone.

“I’ll make this really quick before they start looking for us, so… just listen. This is important.”

“I’m listening.” Kenma assures.

It’s very Yaku of him, to skip all the dramatics, and go straight to the point. He looks Kenma straight in the eye as he talks.

“Kuroo’s not as strong as he makes himself out to be. He’s too soft for this place, always has been.” He says earnestly, “I need you to promise me you’ll look out for him. Can you do that for me?”

There it is again.

The sinking feeling in his stomach that kept telling him that something was really fucking wrong. Kenma breathes through it, swallows, opens his mouth.

“Why?” Kenma asks, “Are you going somewhere?”

Yaku shakes his head, taking hold of Kenma’s shoulder and squeezing tightly. “Just promise me.”

And Kenma can tell that at the moment, nothing in the _world_ matters to Yaku more.

So, he nods, all the while knowing that he’s making a promise that carries the weight of the entire universe. “I promise.”

Yaku searches his face for a few moments and once he finds what he’s looking for, he nods decidedly and lets him go with one last squeeze. “Thank you.”

Just as he’s about to lead them back into the room, Kenma asks, “Will you at least tell me if it’s a safe place? Somewhere far away?”

Kenma doesn’t know it then. He doesn’t know a thing.

That smile that Yaku gives him, that _gentle_ smile, with those words he says next, with a voice so _certain_ that it left no room for even a glimmer of doubt or fear.

He doesn’t know what it means.

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere bad, Kenma.” He says, voice soft but so assured, “I’ve been heading there my whole life, anyway. _Mahika_ was just… a rest stop, maybe.”

Like the way waves only crash, linger, and then pull back.

“IT’S WORKING!” They hear Bokuto yell. “Kenma! Yaku! Where are you?!”

“Come on,” Yaku motions back to the room, “Before they come looking for us.”

Kenma doesn’t have the time to ask Yaku anything else or linger on the sinking feeling in his stomach, because he’s instantly met with Fred Astaire’s _The Way You Look Tonight_ and the view of Bokuto and Kuroo slow-dancing in the middle of the room, Akaashi and the Miya twins looking on with fondness, amusement, and another expression that Kenma couldn’t be sure of.

_Someday, when I’m awfully low, and the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight…_

“Yakkun, get in here!” Bokuto says when he meets gazes with him, reaching a hand out to the boy. “Hurry!”

Yaku makes a show of rolling his eyes, but he takes his hand anyway, and joins them.

The three of them form a small circle, arms around each other, the top of their heads pressed together.

_There is nothing for me but to love you and the way you look tonight…_

Usually, they’d all be joining them right about now. But something about this moment in particular, felt so special, so sacred, and so _theirs._

Instead of joining, Kenma quietly makes his way to where Akaashi and the twins are sitting. He watches along with them.

As the record spins, so do the three, singing along softly to the music. Kenma isn’t sure, but he thinks he hears some soft sniffling too.

When he looks to his left, he sees Akaashi wiping some stray tears himself.

“Keiji?” Kenma calls out worriedly.

Akaashi only shakes his head in response, shooting Kenma a fragile smile.

Kenma can’t count on two hands anymore, how many times they’ve smiled at him in an attempt to hide the fact that they’re lying.

When the song is over and another starts playing, the three hold each other for just a little while longer, as if to give themselves time to pull themselves together, before pulling away to face everyone else.

Kuroo takes a deep, shaky breath. “What’s with all those faces? Get over here!”

Despite everything, they do. Despite everything, Kenma smiles too.

For some reason, Kenma knows it’s all they can really do.

**August 8, 1944, Yaku’s Birthday, 1:04 am**

Kenma wakes up to a tall, dark figure standing by the foot of his bed. He nearly screams and earns himself a second night in the Isolation Cell, but a hand presses against his mouth to silence him before he does.

After a few seconds of struggling to against the intruder, his eyes focus and adjust to the dark, and he realizes it’s… Kuroo.

Kuroo who looked _terrible._

Kenma’s eyes remain wide as saucers but he finally calms down.

He shakily pushes Kuroo’s hand away from his mouth. “What the _hell_ are you doing in here?”

Kuroo’s voice trembles. “I can’t sleep. Can I stay with you?”

Kenma has many questions. Like, how Kuroo had managed to get out of his room and sneak his way into Kenma’s undetected, and why he looked like someone had just died, and how having sleepovers in each other’s rooms was never really _mentioned_ as a rule, but he was pretty sure that this was _so_ not allowed.

He scoots and makes room for Kuroo in his bed anyway.

The boy quietly crawls under the blankets, burrowing himself into Kenma’s chest instantly, curling around him as if they’d done it a thousand times before.

He _feels_ like they’d done it a thousand times before, as Kenma protectively wraps his arms around him. He doesn’t know why.

Kenma doesn’t think to ask what’s wrong. For some reason, he knows that this was the night that Kuroo was going to give him all his answers.

But it’s a long wait before Kuroo starts speaking. For what felt like almost an entire hour, all he does is tremble like a leaf in Kenma’s arms.

And when he does speak, he says all but four words, so softly but with all the strength Kuroo seemed to have in him, to even say it out loud.

“Yaku’s going to die.”

And Kenma wishes he could say that he didn’t know. He wishes he could say that it had blindsided him. He wishes he could say that he didn’t believe it.

But he _did_ know. He thinks he’s known for a little while now. He thinks he might’ve known ever since that day out in the beach. He’s known, he’s just refused to admit that he did.

It takes him a minute before he finds his voice.

“Why?” He whispers, “What did he do?”

Kenma feels and hears rather than sees the way Kuroo’s chin wobbles as he speaks.

“It isn’t about what he did, it’s about what he is. It’s about what we all are here.”

The back of Kenma’s eyes start to burn.

The sinking feeling in his gut disappearing, dissipating, leaving him with… _ah._

Emptiness.

“The High-Risk Block isn’t a rehabilitation center is it, Kuroo?” Kenma asks, but it isn’t a question. “We’re never leaving this place… are we?”

“No.” Kuroo says. “We’re not.”

That… Kenma feels like he’s always known, too.

“This place…” Kuroo continues, finally adjusting himself so he can face Kenma properly, look him in the eye as he speaks, and Kenma knows it’s to comfort him in a way, “I’ve been in this place for ten years. Maybe, if we were a part of the Regular Block, there’d be a way to get out. If we were good, they’d train us, make sure we’re _invincible,_ and turn us into guards. Let us work for them. Pay us good money. Allow us to live.”

 _Like Ukai,_ Kenma realizes. _Like Takeda._

“But we’re High-Risk.” Kuroo says, “They aren’t going to train us. We weren’t put in here to be rehabilitated. They put us here to die.”

Kenma’s arms unconsciously press Kuroo closer to him. “How?”

Kuroo shakes his head. “I don’t know. All I know is that… as long as I’ve been here, I’ve watched a lot of people come and go. Good people, bad people, lost people, evil people. People who’ve harmed without meaning to, people who’ve harmed just because they wanted to. People who’ve killed without meaning to, people who’ve killed with intent.”

“The guards back then, before Ukai-san and the others came… they were cruel. They did nothing as they watched people die one after the other. They’d beat us to near death. They’d starve us. And they’d just _watch_ people go crazy.” Kuroo continues, “They’d watch as these kids’ magic consumed them and eventually destroyed them. They’d _watch_ these kids destroy themselves with their own magic that they were never taught to control. They’d _watch_ as they destroyed all the people around them, too… and they took pleasure in it. They saw it as punishment.”

Kuroo takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to give himself a moment.

Kenma rubs his back, whispers, _it’s okay_ against his forehead.

“New kids are brought in all the time. So, to make space… if we don’t end up killing ourselves or killing each other before then, they do it for us once we turn eighteen.” He says, “I don’t know how they do it, where they do it, but they take them away… and they just never come back.”

Kuroo sniffs, wiping away some stray tears that’d made their way out. “At first, I thought maybe they’d just been transferred to that place in the city where all the older magic-folk are, you know? It was only when Udai, the first banshee we had, came… that I _knew.”_

It’s then that it hits Kenma.

Kuroo had been here for ten years. Since the age of eight. For two years, he didn’t even have _Yaku._

He was beat. He was starved. A lot of the scars he’d seen all over Kuroo’s body could be as old as ten years old.

“How many friends have you said goodbye to, Kuroo?” Kenma asks, reaching up to bury his fingers in Kuroo’s dark locks.

Kuroo doesn’t give him a number. “A lot.”

 _Once you turn eighteen,_ Kenma repeats to himself. _Once you turn eighteen._

Yaku, Bokuto, and Kuroo were the same age.

His throat closes up.

“Can’t Akaashi stop them? With his mind control? Or someone else, maybe in the Regular Block? Yaku… he said we’re smart, didn’t he? We can think of something, we can—”

“Kenma.” Kuroo says, reaching out to rest his hand on Kenma’s cheek. “Akaashi is powerful _._ His magic is impressive. But he isn’t even close to being powerful enough to fight against guards who were trained for years to be invincible against us. We can’t put him in harm’s way like that. Bokuto would never forgive us. I’d never forgive myself.”

“So are you saying that we just _die?”_ Kenma half-whispers, half-yells. “I’m not going to just _watch_ you all die one by one!”

“Kenma—”

“No,” Kenma shakes his head, pulling away from Kuroo, grabbing him by the shoulders, “We’re going to come up with something. You love them, right? I _know_ you do. You don’t want to say goodbye to any of them, do you? You’re the head of the HR Block. You know how things work around here more than any of us. And plus, I’ve heard that your magic is the most powerful of all. So, if you could just… tell me what you can do, and I’ll help you come up with the plan and—”

 _“Kenma.”_ Kuroo repeats a little more urgently, effectively shutting him down. “I don’t have any magic.”

All the words die in Kenma’s throat. “What?”

_No._

Kuroo looks like he’s apologizing with his eyes. Kenma hates it.

“I don’t have any magic.”

_This isn’t happening._

“But,” Kenma sputters, “—that doesn’t make _any_ sense, why are you here then?”

“It was my little brother who had magic.” Kuroo explains, “He was only six. My parents had never even taught him about magic-folk yet. He got into a fight with them over something… something _small,_ so irrelevant, that I don’t even remember it.”

_No. No. No._

Kenma bites his tongue so hard that he tastes metal. This was the explanation he’d been waiting to hear for so long. He doesn’t want to hear it anymore.

“He lost control. He lashed out at them and the second he touched their skin… they burst into flames and burned to death right in front of us.” He manages to say, voice brittle in a way that he never was, “So…”

Kenma already knows what’d happened. He already knows what Kuroo Tetsurou would do.

“You took the fall.” He finishes lamely.

“I told him to run, somewhere far, somewhere _safe,_ and to never look back.” Kuroo says, “As far as I know… they haven’t caught him.”

It dawns on him that Kuroo was beat, starved, and brought to the Isolation Cell more times than anyone could even count over the span of ten years, and he didn’t even have any magic.

 _Fuck,_ he didn’t even have any magic.

“Do you regret it?” Kenma asks after a long silence, on reflex almost, because he isn’t sure anymore if he’s still present in his own body.

Kuroo, without even thinking about it, shakes his head.

“The closest thing I have to magic… are my dreams.” He explains, smiling a little, “I don’t know what they are, but I know they mean _something._ I know that they’re trying to tell me something important. And all these years, they’ve been telling me that my brother is somewhere out there… and that he’s okay.”

He’s kind beyond belief, he loves unconditionally, like he’d die if he stopped, and Kenma _hates_ it.

“If I didn’t take the fall, I wouldn’t have met any of you. I wouldn’t have met _you,_ you know?” Kuroo says playfully, even in this situation, nudging Kenma, “I… wouldn’t have been able to turn this prison into a home.”

“I know it’s probably wrong of me to want to hide this from people for as long as I can,” Kuroo continues, “I _know_ that and yet… I just wanted to give everyone even just a _sense_ of home before they went. They deserve that much. Kids deserve that much. Is it so wrong of me?”

Kenma understands now. He understands what Kuroo had meant and what he’d been trying to do all his life in this place.

He understands and he was _right._

Because now that he knew, all he really wanted to do, was go back to when he didn’t.

He doesn’t know either, whether Kuroo was right or wrong for doing all the things he’s done. So, he doesn’t answer.

Instead, he just holds him and tells him what he does know.

“I don’t know about a lot of things, Kuroo. All I do know… is that you’ve given us warmth we never would’ve gotten from anyone or anywhere else. Nothing about that is wrong.”

For a long time, neither of them said anything more, wrapped up in each other’s arms in the quiet.

“I’m sorry, Kenma.” Kuroo whispers eventually, “No matter how hard I thought about it, it doesn’t matter what we do. In here or out there… we’re only ever headed towards the same place, no matter where we go.”

Kenma only shushes him, because he knows. He already knows that all too well.

“In your dreams,” He asks against Kuroo’s hair, “—is Yaku going to be okay?”

After a meaningful pause, Kuroo makes a small noise that sounds like _yes_.

“He will be.” He says quietly, “Someday. Somewhere else.”

Kenma isn’t sure when it happens or how they manage to do it at all, but eventually, they start to drift off.

And distantly, Kenma thinks he can hear that painfully familiar soft humming, singing them to sleep.

**August 8, 1944, 8:00 am**

Kenma wakes up with a long, blood-curdling scream. He screams so loud that his throat burns and he’s sobbing too, uncontrollably, and Kuroo holds him tightly through it, the boy’s own tears falling on top of Kenma’s head.

All he can see in that very moment is Yaku’s gentle, unwavering smile and that strong, reassuring voice that had told him that he wouldn’t be going anywhere bad.

Kenma sobs even as the screaming stops. The guards are merciful enough to him that morning, that they don’t even come for him this time as he continues to wail.

He screams and it’s not only for Yaku.

He’s screaming for a lot of things, for a lot of people.

He screams because he realizes that he’s going to die. He’s going to _die._

They’re all going to die, and all they can do is _wait._

He screams for the many kids who went before them, for the many who will come after them, for Bokuto only a month from now, for Keiji who’ll be left behind.

He screams for all of them who were going to die for being born with something they didn’t choose to have.

He screams for all the souls like waves.

Crashing, lingering only for a moment, before being pulled away.

But more than anything else, more than anyone else, he screams for Kuroo.

He screams for Kuroo who was going to die for doing absolutely nothing at all.

For Kuroo, who was going to die for no reason, other than for the simple act of being a good person, who despite it all, continued to love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is about to be a double update. Love that for us.

**September, 1944**

Reality doesn’t set in straight away. It settles in slowly, creeps its way into Kenma’s bones, making the days pass like a blur as he silently goes through the five stages of grief.

He’s done with denial, done with anger, and bargaining as well. That meant he only had to go through the depression stage before he can get to acceptance.

He at least hopes he gets there before the 20th. Maybe then, it wouldn’t be as bad, so that by the time Kuroo’s birthday comes on November, if he could be so lucky, he won’t feel much of anything at all.

The waves continue to crash, linger, then pull back. Kuroo continues to smile. Bokuto continues to laugh. The twins continue to bicker. Akaashi continues to watch them with amusement.

Kenma knows it isn’t because of a lack of grief, but because at this point, they’ve come to a quiet acceptance.

How many people did they have to say goodbye to, before getting here? Did he have enough strength in his heart to go through the same?

They give him the space he needs to recover and say goodbye, because everyone knew very well that banshees felt death deeper than any other in the magical world.

The waves crash, linger, and then pull away. He wonders when the ocean had stopped being so beautiful and started being so sad.

The interruption from his mourning comes in the form of an extremely loud and bright head of orange hair. 

“Excuse me! Hello!”

Kenma flinches, shoulders jumping. He looks up from his comfortable position by the sea.

The boy’s smile is blinding.

“Uh… who are you?” Kenma asks.

“Sorry to interrupt you from your… blank staring.” He says, not sounding the least bit apologetic, sitting right next to Kenma without an invitation. “I’m new around here and saw you all alone so I decided I’d come and say hi!”

“New…” Kenma repeats to himself, “Are you from the Regular Block?”

“Yep!” Hinata nods, “And I didn’t see you around there, so I’m guessing you’re one of the few guys from High-Risk, huh?”

Kenma feels a little winded. “Why are you talking to me, then?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Hinata asks, “It isn’t against the rules or anything, is it?”

“We don’t scare you, then?”

Hinata shakes his head.

He was probably the first who wasn’t part of the HR Block who didn’t mind speaking to them since Akaashi happened, if he even counted. 

“Actually, I just passed by those guys,” He says, pointing to Kuroo and the others from a few feet away, in the middle of burying Bokuto’s entire body in sand, “—and decided I wanted to hang out with you guys. Oh, by the way, my name is—”

“Hinata!” A low voice calls out from behind him, “Where did you run off to? What are you _doing?”_

A taller boy with a black bowl cut and permanent scowl on his face approaches them. He looks at Kenma with curiosity, but no fear.

“Shut up, Bakageyama!” Hinata says with a glare, before turning his attention back to Kenma. “I’m Hinata Shoyo! I’m sixteen and I can see people’s futures when I touch them and focus a lot! And this ugly guy is Kageyama Tobio. He’s fifteen and he’s a shapeshifter.”

“Don’t call me ugly with that face of yours.” Kageyama mutters under his breath.

Kenma wished he cared.

He only nods at the two, before returning his gaze back to the horizon. Thinks about Yaku’s warmth that used to be right next to him. “Nice to meet you.”

Hinata makes a low, questioning noise under his breath, before scooting closer to him. Kenma makes a face.

“That tall guy with weird hair told me that you’re really nice and that you’d be my friend.” Hinata informs him, smiling hopefully, “What’s your name?”

Kenma’s breath hitches at the boy’s expression. A pure one. An untainted one. One that Kenma already hoped would never have to go away, the longer he looked at it.

“Kozume…” He mumbles.

“Kozume?” Hinata tilts his head, “That’s your name?”

“Kenma.” He says, once he properly finds his voice, “Kozume Kenma.”

“Kenma!” He exclaims with a joyful tone that didn’t really fit into the reality of this place, “You can call me Shoyo then!”

Kenma’s transition from the depression stage to the acceptance stage comes in the form of Hinata Shoyo. A small, bright, head of orange hair, and a smile that only rivaled the sun itself.

“Alright,” Kenma smiles softly, meeting the boy’s eyes. “Shoyo, then. Sure. We can hang out.”

If only to make sure that that untainted smile would never have to go away.

“Hey, Kenma,” Hinata asks, as they walk towards the HR table in the cafeteria, “Why does everyone stare at me when I hang out with you?”

Kenma shrugs. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really.” Hinata pouts, “But it’s weird. They don’t stare at Kageyama as much, and he hangs out with you guys sometimes, too.”

“That’s because they’re more scared of him than of you.”

“Hey!” Hinata exclaims as they get to the table, “I’m the scariest!”

“Sure you are, shrimpy.” Kuroo says, without having heard anything else he’d said, “ _Damn,_ look at that, Bo. The Regular Block gets side dishes!” He points to Hinata’s tray.

“We get free snacks during free time too,” Hinata informs them, “I can share them with you guys, if you’d like!”

He’s met with silence. He looks up at them.

“What? What is it? Why does it look like you guys are about to start crying?”

“Hey, Kenma.” Hinata asks one day, “I’ve never asked… but how did you guys end up in the High-Risk Block?”

Kenma could answer that in detail now, if he really wanted to. He could say that he yelled one day and everyone decided that he’d killed his father. He could say that the twins were here because they had bad dreams and hurt people because of them, that Bokuto was here because he’d protected his lover and Akaashi was here for the same thing, he could say that Yaku… was once here because he’d protected himself and had died for it, and that Kuroo was here when he wasn’t supposed to be here at all.

He could. He doesn’t.

Instead, he repeats the words that Kuroo had told him that night.

“It’s not because of what we’ve done.” He says simply, because it’s the truth. “It’s because of what we are.”

Strangely, Hinata doesn’t ask any more questions after hearing that.

He only looks away, hums and says, “Yeah… I figured.”

“Hey, Kenma?” Hinata asks, as they lay side by side on the sand, “Are you and Kuroo together?”

He doesn’t ask it carefully, the way most people would, he asks it the way you’d ask anything else, like what was for breakfast, or what day it was. Kenma finds that he likes it. He finds that he wishes it could be like that everywhere he went, one day.

“No.” Kenma answers. “Maybe we could’ve been… someplace else.”

“Hm,” Hinata hums, “Why can’t you be together in this place? Is it not allowed? Bokkun and Akaashi are together, though, aren’t they?”

“There are things you don’t understand about this place just yet, Shoyo.” Kenma explains, _things like how they were never getting out of here, things like how they were going to die anyway, some sooner than the rest,_ “There’d be no point.”

Hinata is quiet for a long time after, and Kenma notices that he never closes his eyes when he looks up at the sky, he merely squints just the slightest bit, like the sun doesn’t bother him.

“But I do understand.” Hinata says quietly, “You’re all going to die eventually, aren’t you?”

Kenma’s breath hitches. “You knew?”

Hinata nods.

“And you befriended us, anyway.”

He nods again.

Gently, he places a hand on top of Kenma’s own. “Sorry. I need to touch the person to be able to see their future.”

He only closes his eyes then, taking a deep breath, and Kenma feels the boy’s magic surge through him. It’s strong without being overpowering. It’s warm. Both his hand and his magic as gentle as the sunlight.

He sees a single tear roll down Hinata’s cheek, but despite the fact that he’s crying, he’s also smiling.

“It doesn’t matter.” He whispers, slowly opening his eyes, turning to look at Kenma. His expression… is sincere. “You two will be together anyway.”

Kenma gulps.

“The universe… the _magic_ in it _,_ will find a way.”

**September 19, 1944**

“Hey, Bokkun,” Atsumu asks, nudging him, “How do you wanna spend today, huh? Yer ‘boutta reach the true manly age.”

Kuroo is peeling oranges for him with Kenma’s help, as Akaashi goes through the pile of records in search of something Bokuto might like, while the twins are sitting on each of Bokuto’s feet, as the boy lifted them off the ground, up and down, like a seesaw.

“Well,” Bokuto says, smiling, and he doesn’t look at all like it’s his eighteenth birthday the next day, “I don’t wanna do _anything_ different! I wanna hang out with you guys! And listen to music, eat oranges, and cuddle with Keiji!”

Kenma wonders how many goodbyes it took, how many nights they’ve cried and trembled in bed, how many years they’d been told they had no other choice, for them to be able to greet death with a smile so bright.

Kuroo’s hands shake but his voice does not waver when he says, “Then, do nothing different we will! Akaashi, play fun music!”

Kenma doesn’t know how much strength it takes him to do it, when the boy playfully salutes him, “Aye-aye, Captain!”

Kenma realizes they are sad, but never scared.

As Bokuto sings with an orange in his mouth, slow-dances with his lover, the only one he’s ever had, as Kuroo takes Kenma’s hand, and leads him to their makeshift ‘dance floor’, as they sway to the beat, Kenma resting his forehead on the boy’s chest, he realizes he is sad but he isn’t scared.

There is a warmth that overpowers the ache in his chest, as if the feeling of Kuroo’s skin against his is magic in and of itself.

And there it was, seeping into his skin and bones, taking up space where it was once empty. The quiet acceptance, that settles as music fills the room, and his body knows of nothing but Kuroo’s warmth, as he presses his ear against the boy’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.

Listening while he can still hear it beating.

Because if they were going to die anyway, then he’d rather they die this way, with _this_ as their last feeling, with _them_ as their last memory.

They at least have this if nothing else. 

**September 20, 1944, Bokuto’s Birthday, 8:00 am**

Kenma wakes up with a blood-curdling scream.

He cries, but not the way he did the first time. This time, he found comfort in the fact that Bokuto was ready.

They were all ready. They were not scared.

When he sees everyone else left behind, the twins, Kuroo, Akaashi, it feels like a part of them had died. And in a lot of ways, a part of them had.

Kuroo peels oranges, still.

And for months after, Akaashi continues to reflexively turn to his left, as if forgetting momentarily that he was gone, as if the boy was still right next to him, like he always has been.

Somehow, Kenma has a feeling that he still is.

In the end, he doesn’t know where else Bokuto would go.

**November, 1944**

The week before Kuroo’s eighteenth birthday, they get a new kid in the HR Block. Haiba Lev. He’d missed Yaku by three months. After meeting the boy, no one had the heart to tell him what really happened and they’d instead told him that Yaku was transferred. That’s a problem they’re gonna have to deal with later on.

Kenma watches from afar as Kuroo tries to teach the kid how to properly play catch while controlling his magic. (He had super strength. Bokuto would’ve liked him. He missed him only by two months.) The twins are performing some sort of demonstration for him, explaining how to do it in a way that Kenma could tell that the boy didn’t get.

He didn’t get why the twins were doing the demonstration, either. Obviously, it was easy for them. They were telepathic _and_ telekinetic. What was the point?

He thinks he sees Kuroo mouth something like, _“Don’t swear, you morons!”_

Kenma smiles and thinks to himself that he really doesn’t want to lose him.

God, he doesn’t want anyone in this place to lose him.

Akaashi seems to feel whatever Kenma’s feeling. He’d always been good at that. He wonders whether it came with his magic or if it’s just the way he is. He feels like it’s probably the latter.

“We’re going to be okay.” Akaashi says with the same unwavering courage he’d heard in Yaku, in Bokuto, in Kuroo, “We’re going to be just fine.”

They’re going to lose the twins next year, only a few days before Kenma. He’s only glad that they’re at least going together.

He just feels bad that he’s going to have to leave Akaashi behind, too.

“Are we?” Kenma whispers, because not even their assurance felt enough anymore.

“We are.” He answers, without any room for doubt. “Hinata told me so. He said it won’t be in this place, but somewhere else, somewhere far away.”

Kenma chuckles under his breath at those familiar words. “You trust that?”

“I have no choice but to trust it.” He says, “It’s his magic, after all.”

“YES!” They suddenly hear Kuroo yell, interrupting their thoughts, “Exactly! Just the way you did it! Thank you for not blowing my hand off!”

“Nice, kid!” Osamu starts clapping, “But we ain’t gonna complain if you do blow his hand off, that’s all I’m tryin’ to say!”

“Don’t listen to him!”

Kenma doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until Akaashi nudges him teasingly.

“Are you gonna tell him?” He asks.

“Tell him _what_ exactly?”

“That you’re in love with him.”

_“Keiji.”_

“What?” He asks, innocently. “You are, though!”

Kenma huffs, curling into himself. “What’s the point of saying it out loud at this point? He probably already knows.”

“Say it anyway.” Akaashi tells him, gaze fixed on the boy as well, “Leave nothing left unsaid. Leave nothing to regret.”

He wonders how exactly it was possible to watch Kuroo die and have nothing to regret. He can only really think of one way to do that.

“Hey, Keiji,” Kenma says, leaning back, stretching his legs out as he looks up at the clouds, “Would you hate me if I just died too?”

Akaashi doesn’t look fazed.

“No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t even blame you.” Akaashi answers simply, “But don’t.”

Kenma wouldn’t. He knows he wouldn’t. But he asks anyway. “Why not?”

“Because Kuroo… spent his whole life turning what should’ve been a prison into a home. He didn’t have to do that, but he did it anyway. It’s all he’s done all these years. I don’t think he ever lived for himself, he only ever lived for everyone else.”

Kenma bites the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from crying.

“That’s why once he’s gone, we have to keep it going.” Akaashi says, nodding like he’s decided on it a long time ago, “That selfless kindness and infectious, _unrelenting_ optimism that wormed its way into everyone’s hearts… we have to keep that alive.”

“And we have to pass it on.” Akaashi says, looking Kenma in the eye, “Pass it on to this giant kid, so he can pass it on to everyone after. We keep it _alive._ That way… we can keep them alive too. Yaku, Bokuto, Kuroo… we can keep them alive, too.”

Kenma sniffs.

“We have to live, Kenma. For as long as we’re given.” He says, “It’s all Kuroo wants. It’s all he’s lived for.”

“Ow!” Kuroo cries out, both hands flying to his privates. “Oh, dear _God,_ ow!”

“Oh my god!” Lev exclaims, rushing over to him, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, I swear! I don’t know how I made the ball spin like that!”

Atsumu and Osamu secretly high five behind their backs.

_So they can keep this home alive, too._

“Okay.” Kenma nods, decidedly. _“Okay.”_

__

_No,_ Kenma thinks, _this isn’t happening._

“We’ve got a transferee from the Regular Block,” Ukai says, motioning to the boy smiling brightly next to him, “Got into a fight with one of the guys there and somehow managed to damage the guy’s _brain,_ if you can believe it.”

“No.” Kenma whispers. “Why are you _here?”_

“Jesus,” Akaashi mumbles to himself, closing his eyes like he’s in pain, “Jesus _Christ.”_

“In my defense, I really didn’t mean to do it.” Hinata says, fidgeting, “He tried to fight Kageyama so I had to protect him, you know! Since, we came here together and everything! I didn’t even know I could damage anyone’s brain…”

“Kenma,” Kuroo tries to comfort, squeezing his shoulder, “Get it together.”

“He’s not supposed to _be_ here.” Kenma insists, feeling himself spiraling, “He doesn’t belong here.”

“I know.” Kuroo whispers back, “But look at him. He doesn’t even look scared. You have to get it together.”

“I’m gonna be alright, Kenma!” Hinata assures, with that smile that never fades, “I’d know, remember? I can see the future.”

Kenma would laugh at that if he could. “Even yours?”

“Well, I can’t _see_ mine,” Hinata explains, closing his eyes and suddenly wrapping his arms around himself like an idiot, “But I can _feel_ mine the most. And it’s telling me that I’m gonna be _just_ fine.”

“Somewhere else?” Kenma asks, “Somewhere far away?”

Hinata grins. “Exactly.”

While Kenma tries to gather himself, Kuroo’s the one who reaches out and takes Hinata by the shoulders.

“Now, c’mon, troublemaker. I’ll tour you around the place, alright? You get to have a really great guy’s old room. His name was Yaku and he was _really_ short just like you—”

**November 16, 1944**

“Wow. I’m getting a King’s breakfast today, am I?” Kuroo smirks at the tray of food sitting majestically on the table, catching everyone’s attention.

They’d given him _meat._ Like, _really_ good meat. For breakfast.

And not just him, but everyone at the HR table had smoke wafting out of their food. Kenma doesn’t even remember the last time he’d gotten to eat hot food. He’d forgotten that food could even be hot at all.

“Isn’t this… too exaggerated?” Lev asks under his breath, amazed, “Isn’t this too much like the Last Supper or something?”

“Well, I’m not about to start complaining.” Kuroo shrugs, reaching for his chopsticks and digging in, “I haven’t been served good food in ten years and if my eighteenth birthday is what it took to get it, then so be it.”

When he takes his first bite, the moan he lets out can only be described as erotic. “Oh my _god.”_

Kenma pointedly looks away, hiding his blush, and absolutely _not_ thinking about anything inappropriate.

He reaches for his own chopsticks and takes a bite of the meat.

He almost starts crying. “Oh my _god.”_

He looks up and sees the twins shoveling food in their mouths like they’d never eaten a day in their life.

“Samu,” Atsumu sniffs, “Try the salmon. It tastes like mom’s old cooking.”

“I know.” Osamu says with a mouthful of the said salmon, “I heard you say it in your head.”

Even Akaashi couldn’t seem to get it together, rice particles stuck to the sides of his mouth as he eats more than he can probably swallow at a time.

It’s almost like Kenma can’t help it when he says, “I wish they were here.”

He doesn’t even realize that he’d said it out loud until he does, and he’s about to apologize for ruining the mood, but he’s only met with wistful smiles.

“Yeah,” Akaashi chuckles, “Koutarou would’ve had a field day.”

“Please,” Kuroo laughs, “Yaku probably still would’ve managed to find _something_ to complain about.”

“It’ll probably be about the fish being too salty or the meat being too raw.” Atsumu adds, “And he’d be wrong about that because I can hear Samu’s head and he’s saying it’s perfect.”

Hinata looks up at Kenma, as if asking for help on what the _fuck_ they’re talking about.

Kenma only shakes his head, because he’s not even sure where he’d begin.

He motions to Hinata’s food, says, “Just eat. As much as you can, because we don’t know when this is ever happening again.”

All the while, Kenma’s just wondering why Kuroo seemed to be the only one getting special treatment on his last day.

“It’s because he’s been here longer than anyone else.” Akaashi tells him later, while they’re on their hands and knees, scrubbing the tiles. “No one’s been in the HR Block longer than Kuroo.”

“What? Really?”

Akaashi hums. “Most people here die before they even turn eighteen. Whether it’s because they kill themselves or kill each other… most don’t last long. But Kuroo came when he was eight and lasted all the way through. A full ten years. The guards are fond of him, in a way. They watched him grow into an entirely different person from who he was when he first came in.”

 _A full ten years,_ Kenma thinks, _for doing nothing at all._

And no one even knew that. No one even knew the _extent_ of just how much good there was in Kuroo’s body. No one apart from him.

Kenma stares straight ahead and catches Kuroo teaching Hinata and Lev about how they have to arrange their records alphabetically and how they weren’t allowed to mess it up, while the twins interrupt by telling them that the Wizard of Oz record _always_ goes on top.

He bites back a smile.

“You know… it just isn’t sinking in.” Kenma says, “I just don’t feel it. I don’t know why but I still feel like everything’s going to be the same tomorrow and the day after that.”

“That’s alright. I think that’s a good thing.” Akaashi smiles gently. “That’s what he was going for. That’s what they were all going for.”

“Maybe Shoyo was right and we _are_ gonna be just fine.” Kenma chuckles, “At least it feels that way. Somewhere else, somewhere far away, or whatever it is that he’d said. Maybe that’s why.”

Akaashi raises his brows, teasingly. “You trust that?”

Kenma recognizes those words as his own, so he shoots Akaashi’s words back at him.

“I have no choice but to trust it.” He says, “It’s his magic, after all.”

Akaashi doesn’t look up from his scrubbing, but Kenma can see him grin from the corner of his eye. “By the way, Kenma…”

“Hmm?”

“The twins and I talked about it,” Akaashi says, “—and we’re all gonna miss Kuroo, but we’ve decided to be nice and give you two a moment alone during today’s Free Time.”

Kenma freezes. “What?”

“Don’t panic.” Akaashi says, “I’m just saying… leave nothing left unsaid.”

He finally looks up and meets Kenma’s gaze, giving him a reassuring smile. That smile that Kenma admired for how the boy still managed to keep it on.

“Leave nothing to regret.”

 _“KYANMA!”_ Kuroo yells in a ridiculous, high-pitched voice, “Get over here and talk to your underlings and teach them how the alphabet works!”

 _This is not my last day,_ Kuroo was trying to make him feel. _This is just like any other day, a good one, a happy one, the kind that I don’t mind you remembering._

And Kenma loves him. He’s in love with him _. God,_ is he in love. He’d never loved anyone more.

_Leave nothing left unsaid. Leave nothing to regret._

____

The guards give them two hours of free time today. Kenma isn’t even sure if they’re allowed to do that. A part of him thinks that maybe, they were willing to get into just a little trouble today, if it meant giving Kuroo a proper goodbye. One he deserved.

He sits on the warm sand, even warmer with Kuroo’s warmth pressed to his side, like it always is. The sky is blue, the clouds white, the sea cerulean, the waves crash, linger, and then pull back.

It does not sink in. He does not feel anything, not even sadness, as if he was going to wake up tomorrow, and nothing would be different. He would still be greeted by that same cocky smile, that same lilting voice, that same unruly head of hair, and that same warmth.

Kuroo Tetsurou was not a soul meant to crash, linger, and pull back.

He does not want to say goodbye. He will _not_ say goodbye. Kuroo wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“Have you had any more dreams?” Kenma asks, as they stare out into the horizon, peaceful and content, “Like the ones you told me about… in your letter?”

Kuroo looks taken aback for a moment, shoulders going stiff, before relaxing and chuckling under his breath. “You never brought that up. I almost thought Ukai never got to give it to you.”

“He did. I read it.” Kenma says, “I understood… it made me happy.”

_I read the confession letter. I understand that you love me. I love you, too._

The smile that makes its way to Kuroo’s face is ethereal, almost. So bright that it’s blinding, so bright that Kenma feels the need to look away.

“I dream about that boy all the time.” Kuroo says, “Almost everyday. But these days… I dream about another boy, too, who reminds me of Yaku. Another one who reminds me of Bo.”

“Do they play that sport and those ‘video games’ with you too?”

Kuroo laughs.

“Actually, yeah, they do. They’re happy dreams.” He says, hugging his legs to his chest, resting his chin on top of his knees. “They’re always really happy.”

“I’m glad, then.” Kenma sighs, looking up, finding a cloud that’s shaped like a four-leaf clover, taking it as a sign of luck. “That means they’re happy somewhere, right? Somewhere far away?”

“Yeah.” Kuroo nods, like he hasn’t a doubt in him, “They are. Somewhere far away. Probably in wherever that fucking place is that Hinata keeps talking about.”

And Kenma is in love with him. _God,_ is he in love. There’s so much he has to say, so much waiting to burst inside of him that he’s sure Kuroo already knows, but he wants to say anyway.

Before he can even open his mouth, Kuroo speaks.

“Live, Kenma.”

The waves crash, linger, and then pull back.

“That’s all I want.” He says, “I want you to live for as long as you can, the best that you can.”

Kenma tries not to cry. He’s not going to cry, because this isn’t goodbye. “Just like you have?”

Kuroo laughs under his breath, but it sounds sad.

“I don’t think… I’m as selfless as everyone makes me out to be. Not as kind, either. I loved everyone and I liked making people happy, but there are a lot of things I’ve done mostly for my own benefit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with doing things for your own benefit.” Kenma retorts, “I always wished you’d done that more often.”

“My dreams…” Kuroo starts, sighing deeply, “They’re the closest thing to magic I have. I don’t know what they mean, what they are, just that they’re _something._ Like, another life from another time… another chance, maybe. I figured that maybe if I was kind enough in this life, the next one would be a lot kinder to me too.”

Kenma feels Kuroo breathe, in and out, in and out, so he matches his breaths with him, because he _will not cry._

“You know some religions believe in this thing called reincarnation?” Kuroo says, looking at Kenma, even if the boy didn’t feel strong enough meet his gaze, “I think I read it somewhere, once. I don’t know if it’s some form of magic. It sounds like it, at least. But they say that when you die, you get recreated as someone else, and you get to live all over again. A life that’s completely different from the one you’d lived before.”

“Reincarnation, you say…” Kenma echoes, “Then, will you bring the memories you had in your past life?”

Kuroo shakes his head. “You don’t remember any of it. You start anew. All over again.”

Kenma doesn’t believe any of it, but he finds that he wants to. He wants something to hold onto. “But we wouldn’t be able to find each other, then.”

“Sure, we would.” Kuroo says, factually, like there was no question about it. “I’d recognize you and the others, anywhere.”

When Kenma finally gathers the courage to look at him, Kuroo meets his gaze. And Kenma loves him so much that it’s painful. So much that he isn’t sure if he could ever love anyone like this again.

And at that moment, he trusted Kuroo’s words.

He had no choice but to trust them, because that was his magic, after all.

That belief. That unrelenting optimism. That kindness. Those words that you could never help but trust.

And he opens his mouth to tell him he loves him, he _loves_ him, and if he loved him any less, maybe it’d be a lot easier to say.

But before he can, Kuroo takes his hand, with all the gentleness in the world, and lays it flat against his chest.

Against his palm, he feels Kuroo’s heart beating. It isn’t nervous, it isn’t scared, it is peaceful. And Kenma knows that that’s his way of telling him, that he’s going to be okay.

_He’s going to be okay._

Kuroo leans forward, closing his eyes, and Kenma’s body moves on auto-pilot as he meets him halfway, his body knowing what to do before his mind can even catch up with it.

The first soft touch of Kenma’s lips against his don’t feel like the first. Instead, it feels like the span of an entire lifetime wrapped into one single kiss.

When they press their foreheads together, eyes closed, smiling, nothing more needs to be said because they _know._

They sit on the warm sand, enveloped in each other’s warmth.

The sky blue, the clouds white, the sea cerulean. The waves crash, linger only for a moment, before pulling away.

Kuroo Tetsurou is not a wave, Kenma decides. He is not a soul meant only to crash and linger, before disappearing.

Kuroo Tetsurou’s soul is the ocean. An endless, timeless stretch of cerulean blue.

One that sparkled, one that welcomed, and one that stayed.

“Live, Kenma.” He repeats, whispers, against his lips. “Be angry, be sad, and then… _live.”_

_And wherever that somewhere far away is, I’ll see you there._

**November 17, 1944, Kuroo’s Birthday, 12:01 am**

That night, Kenma waits.

He waits for the hysteria to sink in, he waits for Kuroo to say his proper goodbyes, waits to hear Kuroo’s sobs from the other side of the wall, the same sobs he’d heard when Yaku went, and when Bokuto went. He waits for himself to sob, too.

He waits and he hopes for his door to creak open, for Kuroo to creep into his bed and surround him with his warmth, just once more, just one last time.

He doesn’t get any of that.

Instead, in the middle of his waiting, he hears a voice traveling through the walls.

That same low, lilting voice that put him to sleep, comforted him, and made the darkness feel safe instead of unnerving. That same voice and that same song.

_“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high…”_

Kuroo was singing. He was singing to _him._

_“There’s a land that I’ve heard of, once in a lullaby…”_

It’s only then that Kenma starts to cry, and once it starts it doesn’t stop, because he’s singing. Loudly, beautifully, so he could hear him. And he knows that if this were any other day, the guards would’ve burst into his room, leading him into that cold cell in handcuffs, but tonight, they don’t do anything at all.

Tonight, the entire hallway is silent. Tonight, they just listen to the boy sing. Because they know what this is.

_“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue…”_

So Kenma takes a deep breath, pulling himself together, and despite how badly he’s trembling, he sings with him.

Because he knows Kuroo wasn’t going to come to his room tonight and he wasn’t going to hold him one last time. This was Kuroo’s last act of selfishness.

Giving himself the luxury of making it easier for himself to go. 

_“And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true…”_

No one makes a sound or says a single word, not any of their friends, not any of the staff, and that is how Kenma knows just how much Kuroo is loved. That night, all they do is listen.

All that is heard in the High-Risk Hall that night as a boy turns eighteen, are the voices of two lovers, singing their farewells.

Making a promise to somehow, somewhere, see each other again.

_If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why oh why can’t I?_

**November 17, 1944, 8:00 am**

Kenma wakes up with tears in his eyes and a blood-curdling scream that rips him open from the inside out.

**January, 2004**

Kuroo wakes up with a blood-curdling scream.

He dreams. He always dreams.

Tonight, just like many other nights before, he wakes up in a cold sweat, panting, and crying. His sobs sound more like pained yells, so his father rushes into the room in a panic, just like he has many other nights before.

He hurriedly wraps an arm around him, rubbing his back a little too roughly, but making gentle shushing noises all the while.

“Tetsurou, son, _breathe_. It’s just a dream. You just had a bad dream.”

Breathe in through the nose for five seconds, out through the mouth for another five.

In five seconds, out five seconds, repeat.

He’s pretty sure his dad was sick of having to do this all the time. Kuroo was sick of it, too.

“Your nightmares have been worse these days…” His father says, concerned, but visibly calming down once Kuroo settles down, “I think it might be because you’re stressed with the move, huh?”

He’s tempted to tell him that no, he doesn’t think something as trivial as a new neighborhood could cause him this much damage, but he doesn’t say that.

“Are you alright now?” His father asks.

He only takes one last deep breath and nods, used to the nightmares after-effects by now. “Are we… going next door today?”

He rubs his back one last time, before patting his hair down. “Yeah, we have to go greet our new neighbors. Go shower and get dressed and be down in fifteen, okay? There’s a kid next door who’s about your age. I heard he’s a nice kid, so he might make you feel better about moving.”

“I’m telling you…” Kuroo groans as he gets out of his bed, “The nightmares aren’t about the move.”

Fifteen minutes and not a second later, he finds himself on the short walk to his new neighbor’s house, hand in hand with his dad.

“What if he doesn’t like me, though?” Kuroo whispers urgently, “What if he hates me and we have to move back?”

“Kuroo, that’s ridiculous, why would he hate you? And we aren’t moving back just because you might not get along with the kid.”

Kuroo harrumphs. “You don’t love me at _all.”_

“I do too.” His dad retorts, “Very much, in fact. Now, come on. Chin up and greet them with a smile.”

He rings the doorbell.

Just a few seconds later, the door opens, and they’re met with a polite looking woman, and hiding behind her legs is…

Kuroo doesn’t manage to hold back his gasp. He doesn’t even know why his heart is beating so fast. But the boy’s eyes…

Warm. Cat-like. _Familiar._

Both him and the boy just stare at each other, eyes wide, and their parents have to break the ice for them.

“Sorry, my son’s a little bit shy,” His father laughs awkwardly, pushing him forward, “We’re your new neighbors. My name is Kuroo Riku, and this is Kuroo Tetsurou. He’s eight.”

“Oh! My son is around the same age,” The woman says, struggling to pull the equally shy boy from behind her legs as well, “This is Kozume Kenma.”

More staring.

 _Kenma,_ Kuroo repeats in his head. _What a pretty name._

This time, it’s the boy’s mother who coughs and breaks the silence. “Kenma, why don’t you take your new friend Kuroo upstairs? Weren’t you in the middle of playing that new video game you like? He might want to join you.”

“A video game?” Kuroo repeats, eyes shining.

Kenma squirms a little in his position, before mumbling, “Wanna go play in my room?”

It’s only when their seated side by side on Kenma’s bedroom floor, game controllers in their hands, eyes fixed on the TV screen, that Kuroo asks, “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

Kenma makes a confused noise under his breath. “No.”

“I swear we have.” Kuroo presses.

Kenma shakes his head. “No… we haven’t.” He says, “I’d remember you if we did.”

“Exactly…” Kuroo says to himself more than to Kenma, “That’s why I remember you.”

They play three rounds and Kenma wins all three of them.

“You’re nice.” He decides, “Do you wanna come over tomorrow and play some more?”

Kuroo thinks that he’d come over and do absolutely anything, as long as it meant that they were doing it next to each other.

“Thanks! My dad says being nice is both the best and worst thing about me. I think you’re nice, too.” He says, ears turning a little hot. “Just… so you know.”

“Alright.” Kenma says quietly and if Kuroo didn’t know any better, he’d think the boy was blushing a little. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kuroo.”

Kuroo decides that one of these days, he was going to ask Kenma to play some volleyball with him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kenma.” He returns with a smile.

When the boy smiles back, it’s small, almost unnoticeable, but his eyes smile, too.

That night, he doesn’t have any bad dreams. In fact, after meeting Kenma, he never has a bad dream ever again.

 _Maybe he has magic,_ Kuroo thinks. Maybe that explained those eyes.

Warm, cat-like, and familiar.

A lot like he’d already spent an entire lifetime knowing them.


	5. Epilogue

**July, 2014**

Kenma makes himself comfortable, back pressed against Kuroo’s chest as he takes another bite of meat, “I tried not to act like it, but that was terrifying.”

“What was terrifying?” Hinata asks, with a mouthful of onigiri, Karasuno’s setter trailing along behind him, and Lev catching up to them, half-jogging carrying three different plates.

“Kuroo meeting us for the first time and being convinced that we’d met before.” Akaashi helpfully supplies.

“Oh.” Hinata blinks, sitting down on the grass next to Kenma. “That’s kinda creepy.”

“Whatever. Fine. Be that way.” Kuroo pouts, like they’re all being unfair. “All I’m saying, is that I think it’s romantic that I knew right away how much we would vibe.”

Kenma sneakily reaches for Kuroo’s ass pocket, snatching his PSP back. Kuroo grumbles but doesn’t try to take it back.

“Hey, now that we’re talking about this, I’ve read some stuff about dreams too.” Yaku says, “People also say that dreams are like glimpses into our past lives or something like that.”

“Huh?” Lev cocks his head, “Wait, but my sister told me that dreams are glimpses into our lives in an alternate universe.”

“So, which is it, really?” Bokuto asks, thoroughly invested.

“Hey, Lev,” Yaku scolds, smacking the tall boy on the back of the head, “What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to guard the managers so the guys don’t try and disturb them while they eat?”

“Why don’t _you_ do it?” Lev asks, rubbing his head, and pouting at him like a kicked puppy.

Kuroo holds back a laugh. “Does he _look_ like someone the other guys are gonna be scared of?”

Yaku shoots him a glare.

“They’re fine.” Kageyama interrupts, “They’re just binge-watching Youtube videos of the Miya Twins from Inarizaki.”

“Right.” Kuroo smirks, “I forgot they made a Youtube channel. They really think they’re celebrities or something, huh. Just ‘cause they’re athletes who can also sing. Well, guess what. I can do that, too.”

“The Miyans!” Bokuto exclaims suddenly, making everyone jump. “I can’t _wait_ to play them at Nationals!”

“Miyas.” Everyone corrects in unison.

“The Miyans!”

They all sigh tiredly, save for Akaashi who does it fondly, resting his chin on top of his boyfriend’s shoulder, like he’s so in love that it’s hopeless.

“I’m glad they at least dyed their hair, though.” Kenma mutters, without looking away from his tiny screen, “Whenever we’d see their games in middle school, I couldn’t tell them apart. They have a habit of switching roles, too.”

“Hm. That’s easy.” Kuroo says without thinking about it. It just rolls off his tongue as he says, “Atsumu has brown eyes and Osamu has grey.”

Kenma furrows his brows, that being the thing that finally makes him turn his attention to his boyfriend. “How would you know that?”

Kuroo blinks and realizes he doesn’t know. “I… guess I read it somewhere?”

He hasn’t read it anywhere. He’s never read anything about the Miya twins in his life.

“No, wait, but really,” Bokuto cuts them off, trying to go back to the topic at hand, “So, are dreams our past lives or our alternate lives?”

“I’ll go for past life just because last night, I had a dream that I had a pet dinosaur, and I’d like to think that if I were alive back when dinosaurs existed, I’d be able to train one of them as a pet.” Hinata decides. “And that’s why my life’s so great now! Because I treated the dinosaurs so well!”

Kenma smiles softly at his friend. “If it’s past lives, that’d be kinda sad, Kuro. Didn’t you have really bad nightmares when you were a kid?”

“Oh, he told me that too.” Yaku adds, “He said he’d always wake up crying and sweating really badly. Jeez, dude, what went on in _your_ childhood?”

“I don’t know.” Kuroo shrugs, resting his chin on top of Kenma’s head. “If we’re going with the past life theory, maybe my past life sucked or something.”

Kenma nudges him on the stomach lightly with his elbow. “At least, your current one isn’t so bad, right?”

“Isn’t so bad?!” Kuroo repeats incredulously, “Kozume Kenma, I am living the _life._ I’m tall, smart, good-looking, Captain of the best volleyball team in the world, and dating my childhood best friend, love of my life, prettiest kitten I know, Kozume Kyanma.”

It’s so bad that it’s not only Yaku who makes a retching noise.

“Best life ever.” Kuroo asserts. “I must’ve been a saint in my last life. I probably housed the homeless or something!”

“Somehow, that wouldn’t surprise me.” Kenma chuckles lightly.

“And I’m sure we were together then, too.” Kuroo adds, wrapping his arms tighter around his boyfriend, “That’s why I knew you the second I met you. We were together then and you followed me _aaaaall_ the way to our next lives.”

Kenma makes a face and flicks Kuroo on the nose. “Technically, you followed me all the way here. Since you’re the one who moved next door.”

“This is so gross.” Yaku says under his breath, Akaashi nodding in agreement. “Excuse me, manager— I don’t know your name, whoever you are holding the phone, can you turn it up, please?”

“But if we’re going with the past lives thing then that means you followed me, ‘cause you were born later!” Kuroo argues.

Kenma huffs, annoyed but fond anyway, as he melts into Kuroo’s arms, naturally, the way he always does.

“Fine. Then, I followed you. I’ve followed you everywhere else, anyway.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen at the surprising warmth in those words. His chin wobbles, his eyes turning moist, as if he’s actually about to cry. “Kenma…”

“Shit. Don’t start crying.” Kenma says. “Do _not_ embarrass us like that.”

“Oh my god!” They hear one of the managers squeals, “There’s one where Osamu plays the ukulele!”

“Look at that,” Yaku deadpans, “They even play the ukulele.”

They listen to the twins bicker through their intro.

“For today’s video, Samu and I are gonna sing another cover, isn’t that right, Samu?”

“Yeah, so tell me why you thought it was necessary to wear a tank top for it.”

“Samu, ya piece of sh—” The video cuts.

 _“Anyway,”_ Atsumu says pointedly, “Today, we’re covering a classic song called Somewhere Over The Rainbow, ‘cause Samu recently learned it on the uke and wanted to show off.”

“That’s not why, you fuckin ‘ass—” Another cut.

As the song starts, Osamu playing the intro with surprising skill, the air starts filling with complaints, but Kuroo only presses a soft kiss to Kenma’s temple.

“I like this song.” He says.

“I know you do.”

It’s a familiar song to all of them, because Kuroo’s father used to sing it to him to keep the nightmares away, because Kuroo then started singing it to Kenma when he was exhausted but couldn’t sleep, and to the rest of them it was familiar just because it was.

The sky is blue, the clouds are white, the grass is green, wet, and smelled of petrichor.

Osamu plays and Atsumu sings, Kuroo keeping his arms around Kenma, humming along against the boy’s ear in that low, lilting voice of his, and he listens.

They all listen.

Kuroo’s voice always warm, comforting in a sense, and _familiar_ in a way that none of them could ever begin to explain.

It’s only when the song ends that Bokuto groans loudly as he stretches before turning to the rest of them and asking, “One last game before we have to get outta this place, how about it?”

Hinata and Kageyama are the first to agree, instantly jumping to their feet.

“Heck yeah!” Hinata cheers. “Bakageyama, race you there!” He yells, before jumping into a sprint.

“Don’t use a false start on me, you dumbass!” Kageyama growls, before running off after him.

“Let’s go, Yaku-san!” Lev says, “I’ll show you how good I got at receiving!”

“Alright, you damn giraffe.” He grumbles, motioning for the boy to lead the way. Akaashi and Bokuto stand along with them, the latter patting his full stomach as he does.

“Let’s go.” Yaku says to them, before turning to Kuroo, motioning to the court with his head. “Kuroo, we’re going on ahead.”

Kuroo nods, smiling lightly. “I’ll just wait for this one to finish his game.”

“Alright!” Bokuto says, starting to jog after the Karasuno freak duo. “We’ll be waiting for you!”

Kuroo watches as his friends make their way into the court.

He can hear them even when he loses sight of them. Their shoes squeaking, the volleyball hitting the floor, their yells, and their laughter.

He closes his eyes, cheek pressed against Kenma’s temple.

“Are you gonna play with us, Kenma?”

The boy makes a small noise under his breath. “You can go on ahead.”

“Really?” Kuroo asks, “You’re gonna be okay here? Even if the other guys bother you?”

Kenma makes a face. “I’m not a _child,_ Kuro. Go ahead. I’ll see you there in a minute.”

“Hm. You’ve grown.” Kuroo smiles cheekily, pressing one last kiss to Kenma’s head as he pushes himself off the ground. “Okay. _Don’t_ run off on me. I mean it!”

Kenma laughs, like the notion of him not being wherever Kuroo is would be ridiculous. 

“’Course.” He says, rolling his eyes, going back to his game. “Where the hell else would I go?”

At that, Kuroo smiles gently.

“Alright!” He says as he walks away, sending him a dramatic flying kiss as he does. “See you there, okay?”

As he watches his boyfriend shuffle away, Kenma supposes that Kuroo might’ve been right about them being together even in their past lives.

Because he realizes that ever since he’d known Kuroo, they’d never said the words goodbye, only ever _see you._

 _See you later, see you tomorrow, see you there_ , said with an assurance and certainty that it’s something that would never change.

Even if they had to turn the world upside down, make deals with the universe, or bend time itself to do it, it still wouldn’t stop Kenma from looking at the boy he loves with all the certainty in the world, and saying;

“Yeah. I’ll see you there.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have lots of inspiration for this particular fic:
> 
> \- A novel called The House In the Cerulean Sea by T.J. Klune, that has a lot of similar elements but also not really because it’s not a sad book at all. Very warm and wholesome, though. Also, gay.  
> \- Some inspiration is also taken from the Promised Neverland, an anime/manga that I really love, even though they’re apparently pulling a Tokyo Ghoul on the 2nd season.  
> \- My heavy interest in dreams and how they work, because I happen to have extremely vivid dreams that sometimes feel too real, and I actually like to think that they’re glimpses into alternate universes/past lives.  
> \- And of course, my strong belief that Kuroo and Kenma’s bond is so unbelievably solid, that they would probably somehow manage to find each other, no matter the timeline or universe. 
> 
> Obviously, I have a lot to work on, still, because this isn’t a genre/theme that I’m used to writing. This is my first time and it was hard, but I hope you enjoyed anyway! Until my next story, I guess!


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